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THE WHITE GHOST 
OF DISASTER 

THE CHIEF MATE’S TARN 


BY 

CAPTAIN MAYN CLEW GARNETT 




G. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS NEW YORK 



Copyright, igii, 1912, by 
STREET & SMITH 

Copyright, 1913, by 
G. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY 


The White Ghost of Disaster 




gCl.A3j,g^t^38 

# 


CONTENTS 


The White Ghost of Disaster 




PAGS 

5 

The Light Ahead . 




42 

The Wreck of the *'Rathbone” 




76 

The After Bulkhead 




105 

Captain Junard 




123 

In the Wake of the Engine . 




149 

In the Hull of the ‘‘Heraldine^' 




172 

A Two-Stranded Yarn — Part I 




198 

A Two-Stranded Yarn — Part II 




234 

At the End of the Drag-Rope 




263 

Pirates Twain 




279 

The Judgment of Men . 




310 

On Going to Sea 




333 



THE WHITE GHOST 
OF DISASTER 


W E had been sitting in at the game for more 
than an hour, and no life had entered it. 
The thoughts of all composing that little 
group of five in the most secluded corner of the 
ship’s smoking room were certainly not on the 
game, and three aces lay down to fours up. 

The morose and listless ship’s officer out of a 
berth, although he spoke little — if at all — seemed 
to put a spell of uneasiness and unrest on the party. 
The others did not know him or his history ; but his 
looks spelled disaster and misfortune. 

At last Charlie Spangler, the noted journalist, 
keen for a story or two, threw down his cards, ex- 
claiming: ‘'Let’s quit. None of us is less uneasy 
than the rest of the ship’s passengers.” 

"Yes,” chimed in Arthur Linch, the noted stock- 
broker. "We have endeavored to banish the all- 
pervading thought, ‘will the ship arrive safely with- 
out being wrecked,’ and have failed miserably. 
Cards will not do it.” This seemed to express the 
5 


6 THE WHITE GHOST OF DISASTER 


sentiments of everybody except the morose mariner, 
whose thoughts nobody could read or fathom. He 
sat there, deep in his chair, gazing at a scene or 
scenes none of us could see or appreciate. 

“Well! Since we cannot take our thoughts off 
‘shipwreck,^ we may as well discuss the subject and 
ease our minds,'^ added the journalist again, still 
hot on the scent of the possible story which he felt 
that the ship’s officer hoarded. 

The mariner, however, did not respond to this, 
and continued with his memories, apparently obliv- 
ious of our presence. 

Under the leadership of the journalist the dis- 
cussion waxed warm for some time, until the stock- 
broker, ever solicitous for the welfare of the stock- 
market and conforming his opinions thereto, ex- 
claimed loudly: “The officers and the crew were 
not responsible for the collision with the berg. It 
was an ^act of God T and as such we are daily taking 
chances with it. What will be, will be. We can- 
not escape Destiny!” 

“Destiny be damned!” came like a thunderbolt 
from the heretofore silent mariner, and we all 
looked to see the face now full of rage and 
passion. “What do you know of the sea, you land 
pirate? What do you know of sea dangers and re- 
sponsibility for the safety of human lives? Man! 
you’re crazy. There is no such thing as Destiny at 
sea. A seaman knows what to expect when he 
takes chances. If you call that an ‘act of God,’ you 
deserve to have been there and submitted to it.” 

The face of Charlie Spangler was glowing. His 


THE WHITE GHOST OF DISASTER T 


heart beat so fast when he heard this sea clam open 
up, that he was afraid it might overwork and stop. 
'‘Our friend is right !” he exclaimed. “I infer that 
he speaks from knowledge and experience. We are 
hardly qualified to discuss such matters properly. 

“You have something on your mind, friend. Un- 
burden it to us. We are sympathetic, you know. 
Our position here makes us so,’’ saying which, 
Spangler filled the mariner’s half -empty glass and 
looked at him with sympathy streaming out of his 
trained eyes. We all nodded our assent. 

Having fortified himself with the contents of the 
glass before him, the mariner spoke: “Yes, gentle- 
men, I am going to speak from knowledge and ex- 
perience. It was my luck to be aboard of the 
vessel which had the shortest of lives, but which 
will live in the memory of man for many a year. 

“It is my misfortune to be one of its surviving 
officers. I am going to give you the facts as they 
happened this last time, and a few other times be- 
sides. It is the experiences through which I have 
passed that make me wish I had gone down with 
the last one. I must now live on with memories, 
indelibly stamped on my brain, which I would 
gladly forget. Your attention, gentlemen — ” 

Captain Brownson came upon the bridge. It was 
early morning, and the liner was tearing through a 
smooth sea in about forty-three north latitude. 
The sun had not yet risen, but the gray of the com- 
ing daylight showed a heaving swell that rolled 
with the steadiness that told of a long stretch of 


8 THE WHITE GHOST OF DISASTER 


calm water behind it. The men of the morning’ 
watch showed their pale faces white with that 
peculiar pallor which comes from the loss of the 
healthful sleep between midnight and morning. It 
was the second mate’s watch, and that officer 
greeted the commander as he came to the bridge 
r^il where the mate stood staring into the gray 
ahead. 

'‘See anything?” asked the master curtly. 

"No, sir — but I smell it — feel it,” said the mate, 
without turning his head. 

"What?” asked Brownson. 

"Don’t you feel it? — the chill, the — well, it’s ice, 
sir — ice, if I know anything.” 

"Ice?” snarled the captain. "You’re crazy! 
What’s the matter with you ?” 

"Oh, very well — ^you asked me — I told you— 
that’s all.” 

The captain snorted. He disliked the second offi- 
cer exceedingly. Mr. Smith had been sent him by 
the company at the request of the manager of the 
London office. He had always picked his own men, 
and he resented the office picking them for him. Be- 
sides, he had a nephew, a passenger aboard, who 
was an officer out of a berth. 

"What the devil do they know of a man, any- 
how! I’m the one responsible for him. I’m the 
one, then, to choose him. They won’t let me shift 
blame if anything happens, and yet they sent me 
a man I know nothing of except that he is young 
and strong. I’ll wake him up some if he stays 
here.” So he had commented to Mr. Wylie, the 


THE WHITE GHOST OF DISASTER 9 


chief mate. Mr. Wylie had listened, thought over 
the matter, and nodded his head sagely. 

“Sure,” he vouchsafed; “sure thing.” That was 
as much as any one ever got out of Wylie. He was 
not a talkative mate. Yet when he knew Smith 
better, he retailed the master’s conversation to him 
during a spell of generosity engendered by the do- 
nation of a few highballs by Macdowell, the chief 
engineer. Smith thanked him — and went his way 
as before, trying to do the best he could. He did 
not shirk duty on that account. Wylie insisted that 
the captain was right. A master was responsible, 
and it was always customary for him to pick his 
men as far as possible. Besides, as Wylie had 
learned from Macdowell, Brownson had a nephew 
in view that would have filled the berth about right 
— so Wylie thought — and Smith was a nuisance. 
Smith had taken it all in good part, and smiled. 
He liked Wylie. 

Brownson sniffed the air hungrily as he stood 
there at the bridge rail. The air was chilly, but it 
was always chilly in that latitude even in summer. 

“How does she head?” he asked savagely of the 
man at the steam-steering gear. The man spoke 
through the pilot-house window in a monotone : 

“West — three degrees south, sir.” 

“That’s west — one south by standard?” snapped 
Brownson. 

“Yes, sir,” said Smith. 

“Let her go west — two south by binnacle — and 
mark the time accurately,” ordered Brownson. 

He would shift her a bit. The cool air seemed 


10 THE WHITE GHOST OF DISASTER 


to come from the northward. It was as if a door 
in an ice box were suddenly opened and the cold air 
within let out in a cold, damp mass. A thin haze 
covered the sea. The side wash rolled away noisily, 
and disappeared into the mist a few fathoms from 
the ship’s side. It seemed to thicken as the min- 
utes passed. 

Brownson was nervous. He went inside the pilot 
house and spoke to the engineer through the tube 
leading to the engine room. 

‘'How is she going?” 

“Two hundred and ten, sir; never less than two 
and five the watch.” 

“Well, she’s going too almighty fast — shut her 
down to one hundred,” snapped Brownson. “She’s 
been doing twenty-two knots — it’s too fast — too 
fast, anyhow, in this weather. Ten knots will do 
until the sun scoffs off this mist. Shut her down.” 

The slowing engines eased their vibrations, and 
the side wash rolled less noisily. There was a 
strange stillness over the sea. The silence grew as 
the headway subsided. 

The captain listened intently. He felt something. 

There is always that strange something that a 
seaman feels in the presence of great danger when 
awake. It has never been explained. But all good 
— really good — ^masters have felt it ; can tell you of 
it if they will. It is uncanny, but it is as true as 
gospel. The second officer had felt it in the air, 
felt it in his nerves. He felt — ice. It was danger. 

Smith stood there watching the haze that seemed 
to deepen rather than disperse as the morning grew. 


THE WHITE GHOST OF DISASTER 11 


The men turned out and the hose was started, the 
decks were sluiced down, and the gang with the 
squeegees followed. Two bells struck — five o’clock. 
Smith strained his gaze straight into the haze 
ahead. He fixed and refixed his glasses — a pair of 
powerful lenses of fifteen lines. He had bought 
them for fifty dollars, and always kept them near 
him while on watch. 

A man came up the bridge steps. 

*‘Shall I send up your coffee, sir?” he asked. 

‘‘Yes, send it up,” said Smith, in a whisper. He 
was listening. 

Something sounded out there in the haze. It was 
a strange, vibrating sound, a sort of whispering 
murmur, soft and low, like the far-away notes of a 
harp. Then it ceased. Smith looked at the captain 
who stood within the pilot-house window gazing 
down at the men at work on the deck below. The 
noise of the rushing water from the hose and their 
low tones seemed to annoy him. They wore rubber 
boots, and their footsteps were silent ; but he gruffly 
ordered the bos’n to make them “shut up.” 

“Better slow her down, sir — there’s ice some- 
where about here,” said the second mate anxiously. 
He was thinking of the thousand and more souls 
below and the millions in cargo values. 

“Who’s running this ship — me or you?” snarled 
Brownson savagely. 

It was an unnecessary remark, wholly uncalled 
for. Smith flushed under his tan and pallor. He 
had seldom been spoken to like that. He would 
have to stand it; but he would hunt a new ship as 


THE WHITE GHOST OF DISASTER 


soon as he came ashore again. It was bad enough 
to be treated like a boy; but to be talked to that 
way before the men made it impossible, absolutely 
impossible. It meant the end of discipline at once. 
A man would retail it, more would repeat it, and 
— then — Smith turned away from the bridge rail in 
utter disgust. He was furious. 

‘'Blast the ship!’' he muttered, as he turned away 
and gazed aft. His interest was over, entirely ever. 
He would not have heard a gun fired at that mo- 
ment, so furious was the passion at the unmerited 
insolence from his commander. 

And then, as if to give insult to injury. Brown- 
son called down the tube : 

“Full speed ahead — ^give her all she’ll do — I’m 
tired of loafing around here all the morning.” Then 
he rang up the telegraph, and the sudden vibrations 
told of a giant let loose below. 

The Admiral started ahead slowly. She was a 
giant liner, a ship of eight hundred feet in length. 
It took some moments to get headway upon that 
vast hull. But she started, and in a few minutes 
the snoring of the bow wave told of a tearing speed. 
She was doing twenty-two and a half knots an hour, 
or more than twenty-five miles, the speed of a train 
of cars. 

The under steward came up the bridge steps with 
the coffee. Smith took his cup and drank it greed- 
ily, almost savagely. He was much hurt. His 
feelings had been roughly handled. Yet he had 
not even answered the captain back. He took his 
place at the bridge rail and gazed straight ahead 


THE WHITE GHOST OF DISASTER IS 


into the gray mist. He saw nothing, felt nothing, 
but the pain of his insult. 

‘‘Let him run the ship to hell and back,’' he said 
to himself. 

There was a puff of colder air than usual. A 
chill as of death itself came floating over the silent 
ocean. A man on lookout stood staring straight 
into the mist ahead, and then sang out : 

“Something right ahead, sir,” he yelled in a voice 
that carried like the roar of a gun. 

Brownson just seized the lever shutting the com- 
partments, swung it, jammed it hard over, and 
screamed : 

“Stop her — stop her — hard over your wheel — 
hard over — — ” 

His voice ended in a vibrating screech that 
sounded wild, weird, uncanny in that awful silence. 
A hundred men stopped in their stride, or work, 
paralyzed at the tones coming from the bridge. 

And then came the impact. 

With a grinding, smashing roar as of thousands 
of tons coming together, the huge liner plunged 
headlong into the iceberg that rose grim and silent 
right ahead, towering over her in spite of her great 
height. The shock was terrific, and the grinding, 
thundering crash of falling tons of ice, coupled with 
the rending of steel plates and solid planks, made 
chaos of all sound. 

The Admiral bit in, dug, plowed, kept on going, 
going, and the whole forward part of her almost 
disappeared into the wall of white. A thousand tons 
of huge flakes slammed and slid down her decks. 


14 THE WHITE GHOST OF DISASTER 


burying her to the fore hatch in the smother. A 
thousand tons more crashed, slid, and plunged down 
the slopes of the icy mountain and hurled them- 
selves into the sea with giant splashes, sending tor- 
rents of water as high as the bridge rail. The men 
who had been forward were swept away by the 
avalanche. Many were never seen again. And 
then, with reversed engines, she finally came to a 
dead stop, with her bows jammed a hundred feet 
deep in the ice wall of the berg. 

After that it was panic. All discipline seemed 
to end in the shock and struggle. Brownson howled 
and stormed from the bridge, and Smith shouted 
orders and sprang down to enforce them. The chief 
mate came on deck in his underclothes and passed 
the word to man the boats. A thousand passengers 
jammed the companionway and strove with panic 
and inhuman fury to reach the deck. * 

One man clad in a night robe gained the outside 
of the press, and, running swiftly along the deck, 
flitted like a ghost over the rail, and disappeared 
into the sea. He had gone crazy, violently insane 
in the panic. 

Brownson tied down the siren cord, and the roar 
shook the atmosphere. The tremendous tones rose 
above the din of screaming men and cursing sea- 
men ; and then the master called down to the heart 
of the ship, the engine room. 

‘Ts she going?” he asked. 

‘'Water coming in like through a tunnel,” came 
the response. “Nearly up to the grates now ” 

That was all. The man left the tube to rush on 


THE WHITE GHOST OF DISASTER 15 


deck, and the captain knew the forward bulkheads 
had gone; had either jammed or burst under that 
terrific impact. The ship was going down. 

Brownson stood upon the bridge and gazed down 
at the human tide below him. Men fought furi- 
ously for places in the small boats. The fireroom 
crew came on deck and mingled with the passen- 
gers. The coal dust showed upon their white faces, 
making them seem strange beings from an inferno 
that was soon to be abolished. They strove for 
places in the lifeboats and hurled the weaker pas- 
sengers about recklessly. Some, on the other hand, 
helped the women. One man dragged two women 
with him into a boat, kicking, twisting, and roaring 
like a lion. He was a big fellow with a red beard, 
and Brownson watched him. The mate struck him 
over the head with a hand spike for refusing to 
get out of the boat, and his interest in things ended 
at once and forever. 

The crew, on the whole, behaved well. Officers 
and men tried to keep some sort of discipline. Fi- 
nally six boats went down alongside into the sea, 
and were promptly swarmed by the crowds above, 
who either slid down the falls or jumped overboard 
and climbed in from the sides. The sea was as still 
as a lake; only the slight swell heaved it. Great 
fields of floating particles of ice from the berg 
floated about, and those who were drenched in the 
spray shivered with the cold. 

The Admiral, running at twenty-two knots an 
hour, had struck straight into the wall of an iceberg 
that reached as far as the eye could see in the haze. 


16 THE WHITE GHOST OF DISASTER 


It towered at least three hundred feet in the air, 
showing that its depth was colossal, probably at 
least half a mile. It was a giant ice mountain that 
had broken adrift from its northern home, and, 
drifting southward, had survived the heat of sum- 
mer and the breaking of the sea upon its base. 

Smith had felt its dread presence, felt its prox- 
imity long before he had come to close quarters. 
The chill in the air, the peculiar feeling of danger, 
the icy breath of death — all had told him of a dan- 
ger that was near. And yet Brownson had scoffed 
at him, railed at his intuition and sense. Upon the 
captain the whole blame of the disaster must fall if 
Smith told. 

The second officer almost smiled as he struggled 
with his boat. 

‘‘The pig-headed fool !” he muttered between his 
set teeth. “The murdering monster — he’s done it 
now! He’s killed himself, and a thousand people 
along with him ” 

Smith fought savagely for the discipline of his 
boat. His men had rushed to their stations at the 
first call. The deck was beginning to slant danger- 
ously as the falls were slacked off and the lifeboat 
lowered into the sea. Smith stood in the press 
about him and grew strangely calm. The action was 
good for him, good for the burning fury that had 
warped him, scorched him like a hot blast while he 
had stood silently upon the bridge and taken the 
insults of his commander. Women pleaded with 
him for places in the boat. Men begged and took 
hold of him. One lady, half clothed, dropped upon 


THE WHITE GHOST OF DISASTER 17 


her knees and, holding his hand, which hung at his 
side, prayed to him as if he were a deity, a being 
to whom all should defer. He flung her off sav- 
agely. 

Bareheaded now, coatless, and with his shirt 
ripped, he stood there, and saw his men pass down 
sixteen women into his craft ; pass them down with- 
out comment or favor, age or condition. Thirty 
souls went into his boat before he sprang into the 
falls and slid down himself. A dozen men tried to 
follow him, but he shoved off, and they went into 
the sea. His men got their oars out and rowed off 
a short distance. 

Muttering, praying, and crying, the passengers in 
his boat huddled themselves in her bottom. He 
spoke savagely to them, ordered them under pain 
of ieath to sit down. One man, who shivered as 
he spoke, insisted upon crawling about and shifting 
his position. Smith struck him over the head, 
knocking him senseless. Another, a woman, must 
stand upon the thwarts, to get as far away as pos- 
sible from the dread and icy element about her. He 
swung his fist upon her jaw, and she went whimper- 
ing down into the boat’s bottom, lying there and 
sobbing softly. 

Furiously swearing at the herd of helpless pas- 
sengers who endangered his boat at every move- 
ment, he swung the craft’s head about and stood 
gazing at his ship. After a little while the crowd 
became more manageable, and he saw he could keep 
them aboard without the certainty of upsetting the 
craft. He had just been debating which of them he 


18 THE WHITE GHOST OF DISASTER 


would throw overboard to save the rest; save them 
from their own struggling and fighting for their 
own selfish ends. He was as cold as steel, hard, in- 
flexible. His men knew him for a ship’s officer who 
would maintain his place under all hazards, and 
they watched him furtively, and were ready to obey 
him to the end without question. 

''Oh, the monster, the murdering monster!” he 
muttered again and again. 

His eyes were fixed upon the bridge. High up 
there stood Brownson — the captain who had sent 
his liner to her death, with hundreds of passengers. 

Brownson stood calmly watching the press gain 
and lose places in the boats. Two boats actually 
overloaded rolled over under the immense load of 
human freight. The others did not stop to pick 
them up. They had enough to do to save them- 
selves. The ship was sinking. That was certain. 
She must have struck so hard that even the ’mid- 
ship bulkheads gave way, or were so twisted out of 
place that the doors failed. The chief engineer 
came below him and glanced up. 

As he did so, a tremendous, roaring blast of 
steam blew the superstructure upward. The boilers 
had gone. Macdowell just gave Brownson a look. 
That was all. Then he rushed for a boat. 

Brownson grinned ; actually smiled at him. 

The man at the wheel asked permission to go. 

"Tm a married man, sir — it’s no use of me stay- 
ing here any longer,” he ventured. 

'^Go — ^go to the devil!” said Brownson, without 
interest. The man fled. 


THE WHITE GHOST OF DISASTER 19 


Brownson stopped giving any more orders. In 
silence he gazed down at the press of human beings, 
watching, debating within himself the chances they 
had of getting away from that scene of death and 
horror. 

The decks grew more and more steep. The liner 
was settling by the head and to starboard. She was 
even now twisting, rolling over; and the motion 
brought, down thousands of blocks of ice from the 
berg. The engines had long since stopped. She 
still held her head against the ice wall ; but it would 
give her no support. She was slipping away — 
down to her grave below. 

Brownson gazed back over the decks. He 
watched the crowd impersonally, and it seemed 
strange to him that so much valuable fabric should 
go to the bottom so quickly. The paint was so 
clean and bright, the brass was so shiny. The whole 
structure was so thoroughly clean, neat, and in 
proper order. It was absurd. There he was standing 
upon that bridge where he had stood so often, and 
here below him were hundreds of dying people — 
people like rats in a trap. 

‘^Good Heaven — is it real?’’ 

He was sure he was not awake. It must be a 
dream. Then the terrible knowledge came back 
upon him like a stroke; a blow that stopped his 
heart. It was the death of his ship he was watch- 
ing — the death of his ship and of many of his pas- 
sengers. Suddenly Brownson saw the boat of the 
second mate, and that officer standing looking up at 
him. 


go THE WHITE GHOST OF DISASTER 


The master thought he saw the officer’s lips move. 
He wondered what the man thought, what he would 
say. He had insulted the officer, made him a clown 
before the men. He knew the second mate would 
not spare him. He knew the second mate would 
testify that he had given warning of ice ten min- 
utes before they struck. He also knew that the man 
at the wheel had heard him, as had the steward who 
brought up the coffee, and one or two others who 
were near. 

No, there must be no investigation of his. Brown- 
son’s, blame in the matter. The master dared not 
face that. He looked vacantly at Smith. The offi- 
cer stood gazing straight at him. 

The liner suddenly shifted, leaned to starboard, 
heeled far over, and her bows slipped from the berg, 
sinking down clear to her decks, clear down until 
the seas washed to the foot of her superstructure 
just below Brownson. Masses of ice fell from her 
into the sea. The grinding, splashing noise awoke 
the panic again among the remaining passengers 
and crew. They strove with maniac fury to get the 
rafts and other stuff that might float over the side. 
Two boats drew away full to the gunwales with 
people. The air below began to make that peculiar 
whistling sound that tells of pressure — pressure 
upon the vitals of the ship. She was going down. 

Brownson still stood gazing at his second mate. 

Smith met the master’s eye with a steady look. 
Then he suddenly forgot himself and raised his 
hand. 


THE WHITE GHOST OF DISASTER 21 


“Oh, you murdering rat, you cowardly scoundrel, 
you devil !” he roared out. 

Brownson saw the movement of the hand, saw 
that it was vindictive, furious, and full of menace. 
He could not hear the words. 

He smiled at the officer, raised his hand, and 
waved it in reply. It seemed to make the mate 
crazy. He gesticulated wildly, swore like a maniac 
— but Brownson did not hear him. He only knew 
what he was doing. 

He turned away, gave one more look over the 
sinking ship. 

“She’s going now — and so am I,” he muttered. 

Then he went slowly into his chart room, opened 
a drawer, and took out a revolver that he always 
kept there. He stood at the open door and cocked 
the weapon. He looked into its muzzle, and saw the 
bullet that would end his life when he pulled the 
trigger. 

He almost shuddered. It was so unreal. He 
could not quite do it. He gazed again at the second 
mate. He knew the officer was watching him, knew 
Smith would not believe he had the nerve to end the 
thing then and there. It amused him slightly in a 
grim sort of way. Why, he must die. That was 
certain. He could never face his own family and 
friends after what he had done. As to getting an- 
other ship — that was too absurd to think of. 

The form of a woman showed in the boat. She 
had risen from the bottom, where the blow of the 
officer had felled her in her frenzy. Brownson saw 
her, recognized her as his niece, the sister of the 


22 THE WHITE GHOST OF DISASTER 


man he had wished to put in Smith’s place. It was 
for his own nephew he had insulted his officer, had 
caused him to relax and lose the interest that made 
navigation safe, in the hope that Smith would leave 
and let his relative get the berth. 

He wondered if Smith knew. He stood there 
with the revolver in his hand watching for some 
sign from his second officer. Smith gazed at him 
in fury, apparently not noticing the girl whom he 
had just before knocked into the boat’s bottom to 
keep order. She stood up. Smith roughly pushed 
her down again. Brownson was sure now — he felt 
that Smith knew all. 

But he put the revolver in his pocket. He would 
not fire yet. 

The ship was listing heavily, and the cries of the 
passengers were dying out. All who had been able 
to get away had gone, somehow, and only a few 
desperate men and women, who could not swim and 
who were cool enough to realize that swimming 
would but prolong an agony that was better over 
quickly, huddled aft at the taffrail. They would 
take the last second left them, the last instant of 
life, and suffer a thousand deaths every second to 
get it. It was absurd. Brownson pitied them. 

Many of these women were praying and talking 
to their men, who held them in a last embrace. One 
young woman was clinging closely to a young man, 
and they were apparently not suffering terror. A 
look of peacefulness was upon the faces of both. 
They were lovers, and were satisfied to die to- 
gether; and the thought of it made them satisfied. 


THE WHITE GHOST OF DISASTER 23 


Brownson wondered at this. They were young 
enough and strong enough to make a fight for life. 

A whistling roar arose above all other sounds. 
The siren had ceased, and Brownson knew the air 
was rushing from below. The ship would drop in 
a moment. He grasped the pistol again. He 
dreaded that last plunge, that drop into the void 
below. The thought held him a little. The ocean 
was always so blue out there, so clear and appar- 
ently bottomless, a great void of water. He won- 
dered at the depth, what kind of a dark bed would 
receive that giant fabric, the work of so many hu- 
man hands. And then he wondered at his own end 
there. His own end ? What nonsense ! It was un- 
real. Death was always for others. It had never 
been for him. He had seen men die. It was not 
for him yet. He would not believe it. He would 
awaken soon, and the steward would bring him his 
coffee. 

Then he caught the eye of Smith again in that 
boat waiting for the end out there. His heart gave 
an immense jolt, began beating wildly. The ship 
heeled more and more. The ice crashed and 
plunged from her forward. Brownson was awak- 
ening to the real at last. He felt it in those extra 
heartbeats; knew he must hurry it. Then he won- 
dered what the papers would say; whether they 
would call him a coward, afraid to face the inevi- 
table. He hoped they would not. But, then, what 
difference would it all make, anyhow — to him ? He 
was dead. His interest was over. What difference 


U THE WHITE GHOST OF DISASTER 


would it make whether he was a coward or not? 
Men knew him for what he was, but he existed no 
longer. He was dead. 

While he stood there with these thoughts in his 
mind, his nerve half lacking to end the thing, it 
seemed to him it was lasting for an eternity. He 
was growing tired of it all. He turned away again 
and entered the chart room. 

His cat crawled from somewhere and rubbed its 
tail and side against his leg. Then the animal 
jumped to the table, and he stroked it; actually 
stroked it while Smith watched him, and swore at 
him for a cold-blooded scoundrel. 

The ship sank to her superstructure. Her stern 
rose high in the air. It was now impossible to 
stand on deck without holding on. Some of the 
remaining passengers slid off with parting shrieks. 
They dropped into that icy sea. 

Brownson felt the end coming now, and turned 
again to the doorway, looking straight at his second 
mate. Smith was trying to quell the movement 
among his crowd which was endangering his boat 
again. 

The captain clutched the door jamb and watched. 
Then the ship began to sink. He could not make up 
his mind to jump clear. There was Smith looking 
at him. He dared not be saved when hundreds 
were being killed. No, he could not make that 
jump and swim to a boat under that officer's gaze. 
And yet at the last moment he was about to try it. 
Panic was upon him in a way that he hardly re- 
alized. He simply could not face the black gulf he 


THE WHITE GHOST OF DISASTER 25 


was dropping into with his health and full physical 
powers still with him. It was nature to make a last 
effort for his life. Then, before he could make the 
jump overboard, he saw Smith again shaking his 
hand at him and howling curses. 

He pulled the pistol. An ashy whiteness came 
over his face. Smith saw it. He' stopped swear- 
ing; stopped in his furious denunciation of the man 
who had caused so much destruction. He also saw 
the pistol plainly, and wondered at the captain’s 
nerve. 

‘‘You are afraid, you dog — you are afraid — you 
daren’t do it, you murdering rat!” he yelled. 

The men in the boat were all gazing up at the 
chart-house door where the form of their com- 
mander stood. 

“He’s going to shoot, sir,” said the stroke oars- 
man. 

“He’s afraid — he won’t dare I” howled Smith. 

Brownson seemed to hear now. The silence was 
coming again, and the sounds on the sinking ship 
were dying out. 

Brownson gazed straight at his second officer. 
Smith saw him raise the pistol, saw a bit of blue 
smoke, saw his commander sink down to the deck 
and disappear. A cracking and banging of ice 
blocks blended with the report, and the ship raised 
her stern higher. Then she plunged straight down- 
ward, straight as a plummet for the bottom of the 
Atlantic Ocean. Smith knew his captain had gone 
to his end ; that he was a dead man at last. 

He stood watching the mighty swirl where the 


26 THE WHITE GHOST OF DISASTER 


liner had gone under. The men in his boat were 
also looking. They had seen all. 

‘‘Look — look!’' shrieked a passenger. “The cap- 
tain has shot himself !” 

“She’s gone — ^gone for good I” cried another. 
“Oh, the pity of it all !’’ 

Smith did not reply. He was still gazing at the 
apparition he had seen in that chart-house door ; the 
figure of the man shooting himself through the 
head. It had chilled his anger, staggered him. The 
awful nerve of it all, the horror 

“Hadn’t we better see if we can get one or two 
more in her, sir ?” asked the stroke oarsman. “I see 
a woman swimming there.” 

Smith did not answer. He seemed not to hear. 
Then he suddenly awoke to his surroundings. He 
was alive to the occasion, the desperate situation. 

“Give way port — ease starboard — swing her out 
of that swirl — hard on that port oar,” he ordered. 

Smith looked around for the other boats. The 
chief mate’s was in sight, showing dimly through 
the haze. She was full of people, crowded, and it 
was a wonder how she floated with the screaming, 
panic-stricken passengers, who fought for places in 
her in spite of Wylie’s oaths and entreaties. Smith 
glared. 

“The fools!” he muttered. “If they would only 
think of something besides their own hides for a 
second. But they won’t. They never do. It’s na- 
ture, and when the trouble comes they fight like 
cats.” 


THE WHITE GHOST OF DISASTER 27 


He steered away from what he saw was trouble. 
He would not pick up the participants in the scuffle 
when they overturned the boat. He was full up 
now, carrying all his boat would hold. She rocked 
dangerously with every shifting of the crowd, that 
still trembled and scuffled for more comfort in her. 
Her gunwales were only a few inches above the 
sea, and it might come on to blow at any minute. 

^‘Sit down !” he roared to the old man, who would 
shift and squirm about in the boat, interfering with 
the stroke oarsman, who jammed his oar into the 
small of the fellow’s back, regardless of the pain it 
caused. 

“Sit down or I’ll throw you overboard ! Do you 
hear?” 

The old man whimpered and struggled for a more 
comfortable position; and Smith reached over with 
the tiller and slammed him heavily across the shoul- 
ders, knocking him over. 

“If you get up again I’ll kill you, you cowardly 
old nuisance!” he said savagely. 

The old man lay quiet and trembling. A young 
woman upbraided Smith for brutality and talked 
volubly. 

“Talk, you little fool!” he said. “Talk all you 
want to, but don’t you get moving about in this 
boat, or I’ll break your pretty neck.” 

“You are a monster,” said the girl. 

“Yes; but if I’d had my way, you would have 
been safe and sound below in your room instead of 
out here in this ice,” snapped Smith. 

The girl quieted down, and then spoke to the 


28 THE WHITE GHOST OF DISASTER 


young woman, who lay in the bottom of the boat 
where she had fallen when Smith struck her down. 
She was the niece of Captain Brownson. 

‘‘I never heard of such utter brutality in my life,^’ 
she said. 

Miss Billings, who had first found fault, agreed 
with her. 

‘Was your brother aboard, Miss Roberts?” asked 
Smith. 

“Yes, he was — I think he went in the mate’s boat 
— why do you ask?” 

“Oh, I was just thinking — that’s all. He would 
have been second officer next voyage. That seemed 
to be fixed, didn’t it ?” 

“Yes; and if it had, this thing would not have 
happened,” said the girl. 

“No ; probably it would not,” said the second offi- 
cer sadly. He spoke, for the first time, with less 
passion. He thought of the manner they had taken 
to get his berth, the insults, the infamy of the whole 
thing. 

“No ; I don’t suppose you knew how it was done,” 
said he, half aloud. 

The girl sat up. She had stopped whimpering 
from the blow. 

Smith watched her for a few minutes while he 
swung the boat’s head for the gray mist ahead 
where he knew lay the iceberg. He thought the 
face pretty, the figure well rounded and perfectly 
shaped. He felt sorry he had used such harshness 
in making her behave in the boat. But there was 
no time for silly sentiment. That boat must be 


THE WHITE GHOST OF DISASTER 29 


manned properly and kept afloat, and the slapping of 
a girl was nothing at all. She might start a sudden 
movement and endanger the lives of all. Absolute 
trimming of the craft was the only way she could 
be safe to carry the immense load. The men rowed 
slowly and apparently without object. Smith 
headed the boat for the ice. 

A long wall of peculiar pale blueness suddenly 
burst from the haze close to them. It was the ice- 
berg. He swung the boat so that she would not 
strike it, and followed along the ragged side. 

The two young women gazed up at the pale blue- 
ness caused by the fresh water in the ice. It was 
a beautiful sight. The pinnacles were sharp as 
needles, and they pierced the mist in white points, 
tapering down to the white-and-blue sheen at the 
base, where the ocean roared and surged in a deep- 
toned murmur. Great pieces broke from the mass 
while they gazed. Smith steered out and sheered 
the boat’s head away from the dangerous wall. It 
was grand but deadly. A large block lay right 
ahead. 

“Ease starboard,” he said. 

The craft swung clear. The mist from the cold 
ocean thinned a little. Right ahead was a flat pla- 
teau, a raised field of ice joining the berg. It sloped 
down suddenly to the sea, and the swell broke upon 
it as upon a rocky shore. A long, flat floe stretched 
away from the higher part. It was a field of at 
least a half mile in length. The huge berg reached 
a full half mile further. The whole was evidently 
broken from some giant glacier in the Arctic. 


so THE WHITE GHOST OF DISASTER 


Smith debated his chances within himself. He 
scorned to ask his men, for he had seen much ice 
before in his seagoing. To remain near the berg 
was to miss a ship possibly; but to row far off was 
to miss fresh water. He had come away without 
either food or water, owing to the furious panic. 
He knew very well that, within a few hours at 
most, the famished folk in his boat would rave for a 
drink. They must have water, at least, even if they 
must do without food. 

The iceberg lay right in the path of ships, as his 
own had proved, the liner running upon the great 
circle from New York to Liverpool. There was 
the certainty of meeting, or of at least coming close 
to a vessel shortly, for others of his line would run 
the same circle, the same course, as he had run it 
before. 

With giant liners going at twenty-five knots 
speed, they usually kept pretty close to the same line, 
for there were few currents that were not accurately 
known over that route. The Gulf Stream was^a 
fixed unit almost; and in calm weather other ships 
would certainly reckon with accuracy to meet its 
set. If he rowed far off the line, then he might or 
might not meet a ship. If he did not, then there 
would soon be death and terror in that boat. 

He decided to keep close to the berg, and ordered 
his men to give way slowly while he navigated the 
field and skirted it, keeping just far enough out to 
avoid the dangerous breaks and floating pieces. 

The morning wore away, and the occupants of his 


THE WHITE GHOST OF DISASTER 31 


boat begat! to grow restless. They had been 
cramped up for several hours now, and they were 
not used to sitting in a cold, open boat in a thick, 
misty haze without food or water. The old man 
began to complain. Several women began to ask 
for water. One woman with three children begged 
him to go ashore and get them a piece of ice to al- 
lay their thirst. Smith saw that the effects of the 
wild excitement were now being felt, and the inevi- 
table thirst that must follow was at hand. 

He headed the boat for a low part of the field. 

‘‘Easy on your oars,’’ he commanded. The boat 
slid gently upon the sloping ice. 

“Jump out, Sam,” he said to the bow oarsman. 
“Jump out and take the painter with you.” The 
man did so, hauling the line far up the fioe. 

One by one the rest were allowed to climb out of 
the boat. They gathered upon a part of the field 
that rose a full ten feet above the sea; and there 
they began trying to get small pieces of ice to eat. 
Ibwas as salt as the sea itself, and they were disap- 
pointed, spitting it out. Smith took a man along 
with him and started for the berg. The boat was 
left in charge of four men, who held her off the 
floe. 

Within half an hour, the whole crowd had man- 
aged to get fresh- water ice. The second officer kept 
them close to the boat and watched for any signs 
of change in the weather. They were allowed to go 
a short distance and get the stiffness from their 
limbs by exercise. 

“I am very tired and cold. Can I get back into 


32 THE WHITE GHOST OF DISASTER 


the boat?’’ asked Miss Roberts, after she had been 
stamping her feet upon the floe for half an hour. 

Smith looked at her. The print of his hand was 
plainly marked upon her face. He felt ashamed. 

‘^Yes, you can go aboard,” he said ; and then, as 
if in apology for what he had done, he explained: 
“You must keep quiet in that boat, you know. You 
must not try to walk about, for it endangers the 
whole crowd. You understand, don’t you?” 

“Yes, I’ll try and keep still, but my feet get so 
cold and I grow so stiff.” 

“Well, you must forgive me for having used 
you roughly. I had to do it. There was no time 
for politeness in that panic.” He came close to 
her. His eyes held a light she feared greatly, and 
she shrank back. 

“I hope it is not a time now for politeness,” she 
said, with meaning. 

“Oh, I wouldn’t hurt you,” said Smith. 

“I hope not,” said the girl. 

Miss Billings asked if she could go aboard also. 
Smith allowed her, and called the boat in. 

The two girls climbed into the boat, and the 
older women commented spiritedly upon the favors 
of youth. Smith shut them up with an oath. The 
woman with the three children huddled them back 
aboard as the ice caused them to shiver with the 
cold on their little feet. They had neglected to put 
on their shoes. The women, for the most part, were 
only half dressed, and few, if any, had on shoes. 
They had rushed on deck at the first alarm, and the 
time allowed for dressing was short. The ship had 


THE WHITE GHOST OF DISASTER SS 


gone down within fifteen minutes from the first im- 
pact with the berg. 

Smith walked to and fro upon the ice for some 
time. The sun shone for a few moments, but was 
quickly hidden again in the haze. 

A gentle breeze began to blow from the south- 
ward, and the haze broke up a little. Smith began 
to get nervous about the ice, and finally ordered 
all his people back into the boat, where they hud- 
dled and shivered, hungry but no longer thirsty. 

During all these hours there had been no further 
sign of the other boats. Smith knew that at least 
ten of them had gone clear of the sinking ship. The 
chief mate’s boat was the one he was most interested 
in at present. He wanted to see the man who had 
indirectly caused the disaster ; the man whom 
Brownson was playing up for the berth of second 
officer. The thing was a reality now since the trag- 
edy. Before it, he had looked upon the matter as 
slight indeed. 

The second mate headed his boat out and kept 
clear of the drifting ice; but always under the lee 
of the berg, which offered considerable shelter from 
both wind and sea, which were rising. The danger 
of floating ice was not great during daylight, and 
he swung the small boat close and rode easily, keep- 
ing her dry and clear of water. He dreaded the 
plunging he must inevitably undergo in the open 
ocean with that load of women. 

With the increasing breeze, the haze lifted en- 
tirely until the horizon showed clear all around. 
There was no sign of the other boats. Smith knew 


S4 THE WHITE GHOST OF DISASTER 


then that they had steered off to the southward to 
avoid the ice. As the sea began to grow, the masses 
of ice broke adrift with distinct and loud reports, 
the plunging pieces from the higher parts making 
considerable noise above the deepening roar of the 
surge upon the base. 

At three in the afternoon. Smith began to feel 
nervous. The ice was breaking up fast, and im- 
mense pieces were floating in the sea which bore 
them toward him. They grew more and more dan- 
gerous to the small craft, and the officer headed 
away from the vicinity and sought the open at last. 

By five that afternoon, when the light was fad- 
ing, he was riding a heavy sea, that grew rapidly 
and rolled quickly, the combers breaking badly and 
keeping two men busy bailing the boat. She made 
water fast. 

The night came on with all its terrors, and the 
small boat was in great danger. Smith tried his 
best to keep her headed to the sea, which was now 
running high and strong. His men began to 
weaken under the continuous strain ; and by ten that 
night they could no longer hold the boat’s head to 
the sea. She fell off once or twice, and nearly filled 
when in the trough. There was little to do but 
make a last effort to hold her. The steady second 
officer came to his last resource. 

There were five oars in the boat. Four of these 
he lashed into a drag by fastening two of them in 
the shape of a cross, and then lashing the other two 
across the end of the cross. He had a spare line 
of some length in the boat; and with this bent to 


THE WHITE GHOST OF DISASTER 35 


the painter, he had a cable of at least twenty fath- 
oms, which he led over the bows and to the drag. 
The drag was weighted with some chain that lay 
forward. The fifth oar he kept aboard, and used it 
himself for a sweep to hold her head as nearly as 
possible behind the drag and to the sea. 

He was tired, sore, and hungry, but he kept the 
boat’s head true for hours, and his people huddled 
down in the bottom, and prayed or swore as the 
humor took them. The children wept, and some of 
the older women fainted and lay prone. These gave 
no trouble. Some of the younger ones still insisted 
on moving about, and brought the wrath of the 
mate upon them in no uncertain manner. Smith 
was making a fight for their lives, and would not 
tolerate any hysteria. He smote all who disobeyed 
with his usual impersonal and rough manner; but 
the two girls were now too much cowed to give him 
trouble. They lay in the boat’s bottom and wept 
and sobbed the night long, holding to each other, 
while the boat tossed high in the air or fell far 
down the slopes of ugly seas. And all the time the 
water broke over her low gunwales as she sat well 
down under her load of living freight. 

It was about midnight when the old man, who 
had been unruly from the first, sprang upon a 
thwart and plunged over the side with a shrill 
scream. 

Smith saw him, and made a pass to catch him 
with the oar; but the old fellow drifted out of 
reach. The second officer swung the boat as far as 
possible toward him; but still he could not reach 


36 THE WHITE GHOST OF DISASTER 


the figure that showed floating for a few moments 
in the darkness. Then Miss Roberts, who was close 
to the stern sheets, spoke up. 

'‘Oh, the pity of it, the pity of that old man dying 
like this! Will no one save him?” she cried. 

Her companion sat up. 

"There’s no one aboard here who can do any- 
thing but bully us women. If we had a man here, 
we might save him. I would jump after him my- 
self, but I can’t swim. It’s horrible to see him 
drown right alongside of us in this darkness.” 

Smith heard and smiled grimly. He was tired 
out, sore, and almost exhausted, but he was full of 
pluck and fight still. To drop the steering oar might 
prove fatal if a comber struck the boat. He called 
to the stroke oarsman who took the oar. Smith 
took the stern line, gave a turn about a cork jacket 
that lay upon the seat, and then over the side he 
went, calling the men to haul him in when he gave 
the word. 

The affair had only taken a few moments, and 
the form of the old fellow was hardly urider the 
surface. Smith floundered to him ; but, being a poor 
swimmer, as most sailors are, he was quite ex- 
hausted when he finally grabbed him. Instead of 
easing on the line, he hung dead upon it, hardly 
able to keep his face out of the sea. The girls 
watched him over the gunwales, but keeping their 
places. Two men started to haul him in without 
waiting for a signal; and they hove upon the line 
with a right good will. It was old and dry-rotted, 
as most lines in lifeboats are, and it parted. 


THE WHITE GHOST OF DISASTER 37 


Smith felt the slack, and knew what it meant. 
The cork jacket held him above the surface, and he 
looked at the boat which seemed so far away in the 
darkness, but in reality was only a few fathoms. 
Yet it was too far for him to make it again. It 
meant his death, his ending. 

He tried to swim, but the exertion of the day had 
been too much. His efforts were weak and ill-di- 
rected, and he floundered weakly about, drifting 
farther away all the time. 

The stroke oarsman called for another line. 
There was none except that of the drag. It would 
not do to haul it in. The boat was doing all she 
could now to keep herself afloat, and to risk her 
broadside in the sea might be fatal for all hands. 

Miss Roberts begged some one to go to the offi- 
cer’s assistance. Smith seemed to hear and under- 
stand. He floundered with more vigor. There was 
not a man among the boat’s crew who dared to go 
over the side in the night. There was nothing more 
to do but watch and hope that the second mate 
would finally make it. But he did not. He strug- 
gled on for many minutes. They could see him now 
and then fighting silently in the night. He still 
seemed to hold the old man with one hand. 

‘Tt is dreadful — can no one do anything for 
him?” begged Miss Roberts. 

‘T can’t swim a stroke, lady,” said the man at the 
steering oar. 

No one volunteered to go. Smith slowly drifted 
off as the boat sagged back upon her drag. Then 
he disappeared entirely in the darkness. 


38 THE WHITE GHOST OF DISASTER 


‘The brute — I didn’t think it was in him,” said 
Miss Billings, with feeling. 

“Don’t talk that way,” said Miss Roberts. “Don’t 
talk that way of a man who did what he has done. 

I forgive him with all my heart ” 

The morning dawned, and the sea rolled with less 
vigor. The boat was still able to keep herself clear. 
The white faces of the men told of the frantic en- 
deavor. The women were now nearly all too ex- 
hausted to either care for anything or do anything. 
They lay listless upon the boat’s bottom, and she 
made better weather for that fact. By nine o’clock 
a steamer was heading for them; and within an 
hour they were safe aboard and bound in for New 
York. They arrived a few days later. 

The chief rhate’s boat had kept her course to the 
southward after leaving the berg — she had gone 
ahead of Smith’s. By midnight that night she was 
almost dead ahead of the second officer’s boat when 
Smith jumped in to save the old man. 

Daylight showed Wylie a dark speck on the hori- 
zon; and at the same time he saw the smoke of the 
approaching steamer. He had made bad weather of 
it, also; but with more men and less women in his 
craft he had kept to the oars, and, when it was very 
bad, had run slowly before it for several hours. 
This had brought him from many miles in advance 
to but a few ahead of Smith’s boat; and he was 
rowing slowly ahead again by daylight. He sighted 
her, and noticed there were no oars ; but he saw the 
man steering, and rightly guessed that they were 
hanging onto a drag. 


THE WHITE GHOST OF DISASTER 39 


Mr. Roberts, the nephew of Captain Brownson, 
sat close to the mate. He had relieved him several 
times during the night. Large and powerful, he 
was able to aid the chief mate very much. 

“I think my sister is in that boat,” he said as they 
sighted her. 

‘‘It looks like the second officer's boat, all right,” 
said Wylie. 

They rowed straight for her as the smoke of the 
steamer rose in the east. Before they came within 
a mile, they saw that the steamer would reach them 
before they could reach the boat. They then rowed 
slowly, and watched, waiting. 

“Something right ahead, sir,” called a man for- 
ward. 

Roberts looked over the side. He saw something 
floating. 

“Starboard, swing her over a little,” he said to 
the chief mate. 

Roberts leaned over the side. He was nervous 
at what he saw. It had the look of something he 
dreaded. Then the object came drifting along, and 
he reached for it. Long before he grasped it, he 
saw it was the form of a man holding to a cork 
jacket with one hand and the collar of a man’s coat 
with the other. 

The old fellow floated high, and Smith’s hand 
was clenched with a death grip in his clothes. His 
left hand was jammed through the life jacket, and 
the fingers clutched the straps. His head lay face 
upward, and his teeth showed bared from his gums. 


40 THE WHITE GHOST OF DISASTER 


“Heavens! It’s Smith himself!” exclaimed Rob- 
erts. He hauled him aboard with the help of a man. 

“It’s poor Smith, all right,” said Wylie sadly. 
The life jacket told a tale too plainly. Wylie knew 
what had happened. 

“It’s just as well he didn’t come ashore. He was 
guilty, all right,” said Mr. Roberts. “A man who 
wrecks a liner and kills hundreds of passengers 
might just as well stay out here. Shall we leave 
him ?” 

“Not if I know it,” said Wylie, with sudden heat. 

Within fifteen minutes they were picked up by the 
steamer and were safe. The manager of the line 
welcomed Mr. Roberts gladly when that gentleman 
came to seek him. 

“I’m sorry we didn’t have you that voyage, Mr. 
Roberts,” he said. “I don’t like to say anything 
against a dead man; but, of course. Smith was on 
duty when she struck — ^that is all we know.” 

“And I suppose you’ll want me to go into the 
other ship, now, sir?” asked the officer. 

“Yes, you can report to Captain Wilson any time 
this week. How is your sister? Did she recover 
from the boat ride?” 

“Well, in a way, but she’s forever talking about 
that blamed second mate. Smith, who seemed to 
have a strange sort of influence over her while she 
was with him in the boat. He struck her, too, the 
dog! It’s just as well he didn’t come back,” said 
Roberts. 

“Well, she’ll get over that all right. Smith was 
a rough sort of man ; but as we knew him, he was 


THE WHITE GHOST OF DISASTER 41 


a first-class sailor, a splendid navigator ; and no one 
seems able to explain how he ran the ship against 
an iceberg during daylight. It’s one of those things 
we’ll never find out. The truth, you know, is 
mighty hard to fathom in marine disasters. It must 
have been a terrible blow to Brownson to have to 
kill himself, unable to face the shame for a mate’s 
offense — but Brownson was always a sensitive man, 
a splendid fellow ; and I suppose he would not go in 
a boat after what Smith had done. Brownson was 
captain, and might come under some criticism. 
Some of the men say he shot himself after upbraid- 
ing Smith for his crime.” 

‘^Yes. My sister tells me they had quite heated 
words while the liner was sinking,” said the new 
second mate. 

And so William Smith passed out. His name 
was never mentioned in shipping circles without 
reserve. But there are still some men who remem- 
ber him, who knew plain ‘‘Bill” Smith, the fighting 
second officer of the liner that went to her end that 
morning off the Grand Banks. And those who 
knew Smith always think of that cork jacket. They 
made no comment. They knew him. It is not 
necessary. 


THE LIGHT AHEAD 


R ed light on starboard bow, sir,’' came the 
hail from forward. The man was Jenson, 
a ‘‘square-head” of more than usual intel- 
ligence and of keen eyesight. 

“All right,” said the mate softly, with no con- 
cern. He gazed steadily at a point two points off 
the starboard bow, picked up the night glass, and 
took a quick look. Then he left the pilot house 
where he had been, and walked athwartships on the 
bridge. 

He was a young man. His eyes squinted a little 
under the strain of night work and showed the 
wrinkles at their corners. His hair was black and 
curly, and his bronzed face, strong-lined and hand- 
some, was full of the strength and vigor of youth. 
He had gone to sea at fifteen. He was now twenty- 
five and a chief mate in a passenger ship, a first- 
class navigator, a good seaman. And the company 
liked him. He was a favorite, a young man rising 
in the best ships. Five feet eight in his white can- 
vas shoes and white duck uniform, he looked short, 
for he was very stout of limb ; a powerful man who 
had gained his strength by hard work in the fore- 
castle and upon the main deck of several wind jam- 
42 


THE LIGHT AHEAD 


43 


mers whose records in the Cape trade were well 
known to all shipping men. 

It was the midwatch. Mr. James had been upon 
the bridge about half an hour only. It was the 
blackest part of the night, the time between one and 
two, in the latitude north of Hatteras. James 
rubbed his eyes once or twice, brushed his short 
mustache from his mouth with his fingers, and felt 
again for the night glass just within the pilot-house 
window, which was open. 

‘^How does she head?” he asked the helmsman 
softly. 

“West, two degrees north, sir,” said the quarter- 
master at the steam steering wheel. 

James looked again, and, replacing the glass, 
walked to the bridge rail and stopped. 

The point far ahead to starboard was showing 
plainly. It was the red light of some steamer whose 
hull was still below the horizon. Her funnel tops 
just showed like a black dot, darker than the sur- 
rounding gloom. Her masthead light was very 
bright, shining like a star of the first magnitude that 
had just risen from a clear sky. He knew she was 
a long way off. Not less than twelve miles separ- 
ated the vessels. There was plenty of time for a 
change of course. He began to hum softly: 

“When the lights you see ahead. 

Port your helm and show your red ” 

“Yes,” he muttered, “it's a good old saw — poetry 
of the night. I wonder if she knows of the poetry 
of — of — the sea ” 


44 


THE LIGHT AHEAD 


His mind went back to the days ashore, the last 
days he had spent upon the beach with her. 

‘‘And I have worked up to this for you,” he had 
told her with all the feeling he could muster, the 
strong passion of a strong man asking for what he 
desired most. “I have worked up to this for you, 
just you.” 

The words rang in his ears. The scene was there 
before him. The beautiful woman, the woman he 
loved more than his life. He could tell her no more 
than that — he had done all he had done just for 
her, just to be able to call her his own. 

The dead monotony of the life before him hung 
like a black pall, heavy in the night. He saw all 
the lonely years he must face, all the hard life of 
the sailor, for she had simply laughed lightly, 
looked him squarely in the eyes — and shook her 
head. 

“No,” she had said gently. “No, you mustn’t 

think of it — I mean it ” And he knew that 

what he had done was as nothing to her, nothing 
at all — what was a mate to a woman like that ? 

The steady vibration of the engines below made 
the steel rigging shake. The low drone of the side 
wash as the surf roared from the bows made a soft 
murmur where it reached his ears. It made him 
drowsy, dreamy, and sullen. He cared for nothing 
now. What was a mate, after all? Any corner 
groceryman was far better in the eyes of most 
women. Perhaps he had been mistaken. Perhaps 
the position he had ideals of was not much. Yes — 
that was it; he had been mistaken. And he gazed 


THE LIGHT AHEAD 


45 


steadily out into the dark future, and subconsciously 
he saw a long, dreary life of toil and trouble, with- 
out the woman he loved to relieve the dark solitude. 

Before him rose the lights. The red was now 
well up and rising fast. It had been but a flickering 
spark at first, showing soon after the bright head- 
light had risen. It was upon the port side of that 
vesseFs bridge and high above the sea. It was 
electric, for no ordinary oil burner would show so 
far with color. The ship must be a liner of size, and 
must be going fast. Suddenly he saw a flash of 
green. It was the starboard light of the approach- 
ing ship. Then for an instant both side lights shone 
brightly. 

The vessel then was not crossing his bows, after 
all. The green was her starboard light, and that 
was the one she must show. It was all right then. 
He would not change the course. If she swung 
out, she must be coming almost head on now, for 
her red had shone but two points off the bow, and 
the converging courses must be drawing together. 

All right then. If they crossed before the ships 
met it was well and good. There would probably 
be a mile or more to spare, and he was even now 
crossing her course, for he saw her green light, 
which showed him he was right ahead of her, and 
his rate of speed would take him over in a few mo- 
ments. Then her green would be upon his right or 
starboard side, showing that she was passing astern 
of him. It was simple, plain as could be. He paid 
little or no attention any longer. 

And then suddenly the green light faded and the 


46 


THE LIGHT AHEAD 


red shone again. It caused the officer to stop in his 
walk, which he had begun again to keep in action. 

“Port your helm a little/’ he ordered as he re- 
alized the positions. 

“Aye, aye, sir — ^port it is, sir,” came the monot- 
onous response from the pilot-house window; and 
the clanking of the steam gear sounded faintly upon 
his ears. 

The giant liner swung slowly to starboard, swung 
just a little; and, as she did so, the loom of a mon- 
strous figure rose right ahead in the night. The 
glare of the bright headlight shone close aboard. 
The red of her port light was a dangerous glare; 
and at a space to port flickered a moment the fatal 
green of the starboard side light, flickered, and 
then went out, shut off by the running board as the 
vessel swung across the bows of the ship, where the 
mate stood gazing at her. 

“Hard aport,” he yelled savagely. 

“Hard aport, sir,” came the response from the 
wheel, and the voice showed more or less concern 
now. 

There was an instant of suspense, a moment of 
silence, and the two giant shapes came close with 
amazing speed. The liner swung to her port helm, 
and her bows pointed clear of the light ahead. But 
the speed was awful. Both going at twenty-five 
knots an hour, making the closing speed nearly a 
mile a minute, brought the giants too close to pass 
clear. 

There was a hoarse cry from forward. The 
mate knew he was not going to clear, and the roar 


THE LIGHT AHEAD 


47 


of his siren tore the night’s silence. Then the huge 
fabrics came in collision. There was a gigantic 
crash, a thundering shock, and a tearing, ripping 
sound as steel tore steel to ribbons. 

The shock made the rigging sing like a giant 
harp under the strain, and the ‘‘ping” of parting 
steel lines sounded in accompaniment to the tumul- 
tuous crashing of wood and iron. The cries of men 
came faintly through the uproar from forward, and 
this was followed almost instantly by frantic shrieks 
from aft as the effect of the shock was felt by the 
women passengers. 

The liner had failed to clear, and, swinging too 
late to port, had cut slantingly into the other ship’s 
quarter and tore away the greater part of her stern. 
Tearing, grinding, ripping, and snapping, the huge 
shapes ground alongside for a few moments as 
their headway took them along without reducing 
speed. Too late the reversing engines, too late the 
telegraph for all speed astern. The ships had come 
in contact. The mate had run into another ship 
that had shown him her red light to starboard. 
There was no mistake about it. The cry of the sea- 
man on watch had been heard by fifty persons. 

“Red light on the starboard bow, sir ” 

It rang in the officer’s ears. It sounded above the 
terrible din of smashing steel and beams, and even 
above the roar of the sirens telling of the death 
wound that had been given a marine monster of 
twenty-five thousand tons register. 

The awful feeling of responsibility paralyzed the 
mate. The terror of what he had done numbed 


48 


THE LIGHT AHEAD 


him; stunned him so that he stood there upon the 
bridge like a man asleep. Fifteen hundred human 
souls were sinking in that ship, which was now 
drifting off to port in the night with their cries 
sounding faintly through the blackness, even rising 
to be heard through the roar of the steam. He 
thought of it. It was ghastly. Fifteen hundred 
souls ; and he knew how badly he had wounded the 
ship. He knew the terrific power of the blow he 
had delivered — shearing off the after part of that 
vessel and letting in the sea clear to the midship 
bulkhead. There was no chance for her to float. 
The wound was too deadly. It was as bad as though 
he had rammed her with a battleship’s ram. 

The half-dressed form of the captain rushed to 
him — his captain. 

‘'What happened?” he whispered hoarsely. He 
seemed to be afraid to ask the question loudly. 
“Great Heaven, did you hit her?” 

The mate stood gazing at the huge shadow, and 
his tongue refused to answer the question. Then 
the voice beside him seemed to gain its power. It 
roared out: 

“Bulkheads, there — close them, quick !” And the 
automatic device, worked from the pilot house, was 
pulled savagely. 

The captain rushed into the pilot house. The 
man at the wheel who had left it to throw the lever 
to close the bulkheads sprang back to his post. 

“How’d you do it ?” asked the master again, in a 
low voice full of passion and strained to the utmost. 
“How’d you strike — don’t you know you killed at 


THE LIGHT AHEAD 


49 


least five hundred men? You murdering brute — 
you were asleep.” Then he raised his voice again, 
and bawled down through the tube to MacDougal, 
the chief engineer. 

“How is she — quick — get the pumps going — col- 
lision — keep the firemen cool, and for God’s sake 
don’t let them panic — keep them at their posts until 
we see what’s up. We’ve run down the express 
steamer Blue Star, of the Royal Dutch Line ” 

The master turned to the pilot house again and 
looked out of the window. His chief officer was 
still standing where he had left him. 

“In Heaven’s name, Mr. James, what’s the mat- 
ter with you to-night ?” he broke out wildly, in pas- 
sionate tones, almost sobbing. “It’s all hands — get 
’em out quick !” 

He was a strange creature standing there in his 
undershirt and drawers, with his long gray beard 
streaming down across his breast. The man at the 
wheel even looked at him for a moment, but did 
not smile. It was tragedy, not comedy. 

“Is she full speed astern?” asked the master 
quickly. 

“Yes, sir, full speed astern, sir,” said the man. 
His face was white, and his hands shook a little 
while he held the spokes of the wheel. There was 
death for many that night, and he knew it. It 
would be hard to tell who would survive in the rush 
that was sure to come if the ship went down. Yet 
his seamanship told him that much was to be hoped 
from the forward bulkhead. It would hold her up 
if it could stand the strain. 


50 


THE LIGHT AHEAD 


In two minutes there was a rush of hundreds of 
feet upon the decks below the flying bridge. The 
second officer came up half naked, dressed in shirt 
and trousers, without shoes or stockings. He was 
a powerful man and short, with a tremendous voice, 
a real Yankee bos’n voice; and he roared out orders 
for the men, who jumped to their stations auto- 
matically. 

The captain came again to the bridge and took 
command. He yelled to the boat crews below, and 
strove to quiet the crowding passengers who pushed 
and fought about the boats in spite of the after 
guard and seamen, 

‘'Get down there and wade into that mess, Wil- 
son,’’ said the master to the second officer; and he 
jumped down and went bawling through the press, 
pushing and pulling, striking here and there a re- 
fractory passenger who would insist upon trying to 
fill the small boats. 

“There is no danger — no danger whatever,” 
roared the captain again and again from the bridge. 
The petty officers took up the cry, and gradually the 
press about the starboard lifeboats grew less. The 
boats upon the port side had been all carried away 
or smashed to bits. Ten boats were left. 

A man rushed up the bridge steps coming from 
aft. 

“She’s sinking, sir,” he panted, pointing to the 
dim shadow of the rammed ship drifting astern. 
The steady roar of her siren told of the danger, and 
seemed to be a resonant cry for help. 

The master gazed aft. Then he rushed to the 


THE LIGHT AHEAD 


51 


pilot-house window and took up the night glass 
hanging there. He looked hard at the ship now ly- 
ing astern and riding with her bows high in the air. 
The man was right. She was rapidly going down. 
Ten minutes at the most would tell the whole story. 

‘‘Get the starboard boats out, Mr. James,’' called 
the captain in an even tone, “and let no one But the 
crews in them. The first man who attempts to get 
in will be shot. Go to the vessel and bring back all 
you can — quick — — ” 

But the form there had vanished before he had 
finished speaking. The chief officer had awakened 
at last from his stupor. His responsibility came 
back to him with a rush of feeling. But an instant 
before he had faced the end. He had decided to kill 
himself at once, and was just about to go to his 
room for his gun. He was too ashamed to face the 
ordeal, the ordeal of the officer who has run down 
a ship in a clear night. There had been literally no 
excuse for him. He could not plead ignorance of 
the laws ; his license as officer made that impossible. 
He knew what to do when raising a light to star- 
board when that light was red. The rules were 
plainly written. Every common waterman knew 
them by heart. He had disobeyed them by some 
mischance, some mistake he could not exactly de- 
fine; but he knew that under it all was that dull, 
sullen apathy from a wrong, or fancied wrong, that 
had caused him to be negligent. 

He would not go upon the witness stand and say 
that, because a woman did not love him, he had al- 
lowed his ship to ram a liner with fifteen hundred 


52 


THE LIGHT AHEAD 


souls aboard her in a clear night. No 1 Death was 
a hundred, a thousand times better than such ig- 
nominy, such a miserable, cowardly sort of excuse. 
‘He would blow his brains out just as soon as he saw 
the finish, just as soon as he knew his vessel would 
float. Then came the captain’s voice of command : 

''Get out the starboard boats and save all you 


Yes, it was his duty; his above all others. He 
was at number one boat before the master had fin- 
ished his orders. 

Six good men were at their stations. The falls 
were run taut, the boat shoved clear, and down she 
went with a rush into the sea. Nine others fol- 
lowed within a minute, and ten boats pulled aw^y 
into the darkness astern, where the roar of the siren 
still sounded loud and resonant — a wild, terrible 
cry of death and destruction. 

James met a boat coming toward him before he 
reached the ship. She was full. Sixty-two men 
and women filled her, and she just floated, and that 
was all, her gunwales awash in the smooth sea. The 
swell lifted her, and she rose high above him, a dark 
object against the sky. Then she sank slowly down 
into the trough, and disappeared behind the hill of 
water that ran smoothly from the northeast in long, 
heaving seas. 

The night was still fine, and the wind almost 
nothing at all. The banks of vapor rising in the 
east told of a change; but the change was not yet. 
James noticed the weather mechanically, as a good 
seaman does, from a small boat when at sea at 


THE LIGHT AHEAD 


53 


night; but he was thinking of the huge shadow 
which now drew close aboard. 

As the boat came under the port side, he could 
see the passengers crowding the rail in the waist, 
where the lifeboats were being filled and sent away 
as fast as men could work them. Seven boats were 
alongside full of human beings. Two more were 
being lowered. Three came from under the stefn 
as he drew alongside. 

There was a mass of people still to be taken off. 
He saw at a glance that the liner had twenty large 
lifeboats for her complement. One was smashed. 
There was every reason to believe she would send 
out nineteen with at least a thousand people in them. 
There would be several hundred more to take be- 
sides these. The life rafts might do it, but he knew 
the danger of life rafts in the furious struggle in a 
sinking ship. 

The thing would be to save the passengers with 
his own boats. This he might do if the ship floated 
long enough. She was sinking fast, as he could see 
by her rising bows. She was probably even now 
hanging solely by her midship bulkhead, and that 
would most likely be badly smashed by the col- 
lision, for he had struck the ship far enough for- 
ward to do it damage, although his vessel had only 
cut into her well aft. The blow had been slanting. 
A little more time, perhaps a few seconds, and the 
ships would have swung clear. 

He came alongside and hailed the deck. 

‘‘Send them down lively — come along now, 
quick!’' he called up in his natural voice. It was 


54 


THE LIGHT AHEAD 


the first time since the collision he had spoken. It 
sounded strange to hear his own tones coming nat- 
ural again. 

In a few moments he was crowding and seating 
the women and children in his boat. Then came the 
men from everywhere. They crowded down the falls, 
jumped into the sea, and swam alongside, begging 
to be hauled aboard, or climbed over the high gun- 
wales themselves. One powerful young man, 
stripped to the waist, dived clean from the hurricane 
deck, and almost instantly rose alongside. Then he 
swung himself into the boat, and stood amidships 
hauling others in until the craft settled down to 
her bearings and the men at the oars could hardly 
row. 

“Shove off — give way,” ordered James. 

The boat started back slowly, the men rowing 
gingerly, poking and striking the passengers in the 
backs with the oars until the crowd settled itself. 
Then she went along slowly toward the ship, and 
the women in her prayed, the men swore, and the 
children wept and sobbed. And all the time the fact 
that he was the cause of it all impressed James 
queerly. He could not understand it, could not 
quite see why he had done it, and yet he knew he 
had. One man spoke to the athlete who had dived. 

“They should burn a man who would sink a ship 
like this on a clear night ; they should burn him to a 
stake — the drunken, cowardly scoundrel ” 

And James sat there with the tiller ropes in his 
hand; sat silent, thoughtful, and knew in his heart 
the man had spoken the truth. If he could only be 


THE LIGHT AHEAD 


55 


sure of the passengers — he would not give them a 
chance to say anything more. His boat came along- 
side his own ship. The crowd above cheered him — 
they did not know — he was a hero to them, the first 
boat with the rescued. How quickly they would 
change that cheer when they learned the truth ! He 
almost smiled. His set face, strong-lined, bronzed, 
and virile, turned away from the people in the boat. 
He gave orders in the usual tone. The passengers 
were quickly passed aboard. Then he started back 
for another load. 

By this time the sides of his ship were crowded 
with boats. She was taking aboard over a thousand 
people, and the sea was still smooth. 

The swell heaved higher as the small boat went 
back toward the sinking steamer. James noticed it. 
The sky to the eastward was dark with a bank of 
vapor. The air had the feeling of a northeaster. 
It was coming along, and there was plenty of time, 
for it would come slowly. The last of the pas- 
sengers would be either sunk or aboard his own 
ship before the breeze rose to a dangerous extent. 

The men rowed quickly. They were anxious. 
The horror of the whole thing had fallen upon 
them like a pall ; but they strove mightily to do their 
share. James found his boat to be the last to reach 
the sinking ship. 

The liner was well down now by the stern and 
her deck was awash aft. She rose higher and 
higher as he gazed at her, her decks slanting, slop- 
ing, and she rolled loggily in the growing swell. 
Her siren stopped. A dull, muffled roar from the 


56 


THE LIGHT AHEAD 


sea, a smothered explosion told of the end of the 
boilers. She would go in a moment. The passen- 
gers were clinging, grabbing to anything to hold on. 
The deck slanted so dangerously that many were 
slid off into the sea where they plunged, some si- 
lently and hopelessly, others screaming wildly with 
the terror of sudden death. 

James watched them. He saw many die, saw 
many go to their end. Others swam ; and he strove 
to pick them up, forgetting himself in the struggle. 

He picked up sixteen in this manner, steering for 
them as they swam about in the night calling for 
help. The last one was a girl, a beautiful girl of 
twenty or less. He hauled her into the boat. 

• A sudden, wild yelling caused him to look. The 
sinking liner stood upon end, her forefoot clear of 
the sea. She swung loggily to and fro for a mo- 
ment, settling as she did so. Then, with a rush, she 
plunged stern first to the bottom, the crash of her 
bursting decks as the air blew out being the last 
sound he heard. 

The ship was very close to him. Her swing as 
she foundered brought her closer. The vortex 
sucked his boat toward her, drew the craft with a 
mighty pull. A spar, twisting, whirling in the 
swirl, struck the boat, and instantly she was a 
wreck, capsized, engulfed in the mighty hole the 
sinking liner made in the sea with her last plunge. 

James found himself smothered, drowning, 
drawn downward by a great force he could not 
fight against. The whole ocean seemed to pull down 
upon him and crush him into its black depths. 


THE LIGHT AHEAD 


57 


The whole thing took such a small space of time, 
he hardly realized his position. The utter black- 
ness, the salt water in his eyes and mouth, all para- 
lyzed his mind for a few moments. Then he 
thought of his end. It was just as well. He was 
drowning, going to the bottom. He must soon go, 
anyhow; he could not face those wrecked passen- 
gers; and with the thought came a grim peaceful- 
ness, a satisfaction that the fight was all over. He 
could now rest at last. 

But nature within him was very strong. He was 
a powerful man. When he gave up the struggle, 
his natural buoyancy lifted him to the surface of the 
sea. He came up, his head appearing in the air, 
and he breathed again in spite of himself. Then 
the old, old fighting spirit, the desire to survive 
which is so strong within the breast of every young 
animal, took charge. No, he would not go down 
yet. He must see the finish, the end of things in 
which he was concerned. 

He swam about aimlessly. The swell heaved him 
high up, dropped him far down ; and he noticed that 
now the sea was running, the small combers rising 
before a stiff breeze. These burst upon his face 
and head and smothered him a little. He turned 
his back to them, and swam on, on, and still on into 
the darkness. 

He saw nothing. The ship, the boats had all 
gone. Once he was about to cry for help; but the 
thought was horrible, distasteful to the last degree. 
He had no right to call for help. He would not. 


58 


THE LIGHT AHEAD 


But he swam and tried to see something to get 
upon. 

Something struck him heavily upon the head. 
Stars swam before his eyes. He reached upward 
with his hands, and they met a solid substance. 
Then he sank slowly down, down — and the black- 
ness came upon him. 

The object that had hit him was a small boat. In 
it were a man and a girl, the girl James himself had 
picked up from the sea a short time before. The 
man was a seaman, and he heard the boat strike. 
He reached over the side, caught the glimpse of a 
human form as it struck the boat’s side and sank. 

The seaman took up the boat hook and was about 
to poke the body away. He was sick of dead men, 
sick of seeing corpses floating about. He had met 
half a dozen already that night. But this one 
seemed to move, and the hook caught in his clothes. 
He pulled the body up, and saw the man was not 
dead, but dazed, moving feebly in a drunken way. 
Then he pulled James into the boat. 

James regained his senses after half an hour; and 
during that time the boat ran before a stiff squall 
of wind and rain that swept it along before it into 
the darkness. The seaman steered with an oar, and 
kept the boat’s head before the wind. The mate 
opened his eyes, and in the gray of the early dawn 
he saw a man he did not know, a seaman from the 
sunken liner, steering the boat calmly before the 
gale that was now coming fast with the rising sun. 
Near him in the bottom of the boat lay the girl hud- 


THE LIGHT AHEAD 


59 


died up and moaning with cold and fright, and 
fatigue. 

James arose and staggered aft. 

“How’d I get here ?” he asked. 

‘‘I pulled you in, sir,” said the sailor. ‘‘Are you 
from the ship that sank us ?” 

“Yes. Fm the mate, the chief officer.” 

“Well, if Fd ’a’ know’d it, I mightn't have taken 
the trouble,” said the seaman. 

James said nothing. There was nothing for him 
to say. He knew the sailor was right. He knew 
the officers of his ship were men to scorn, to hate — 
but he would not say it was himself alone who had 
done the terrible deed. Something stopped him. It 
might have been sheer shame — or fear. He looked 
at the girl. Then he went to her and raised her, 
placing her upon a seat and trying to cheer her up. 

“We’ll be picked up soon — don’t worry about it. 
Our ship will stand by and hunt for all the miss- 
ing ” 

“But Fm dreadfully cold,” said the girl, with 
chattering teeth. 

“Put my coat on, then,” said James; and he took 
off his soaked coat and made her put it on. 

The man grinned in derision. 

“Say,” he said, “who was on watch when you hit 
us?” 

James took no notice. He would not answer the 
question. Then the girl spoke up. 

“Yes, whose fault was it? You belong to the 
other ship, you’ll know all about it. They ought 
to hang the man who is responsible for this awful 


60 


THE LIGHT AHEAD 


thing — my poor mother and father — oh ” And 

she broke into a sob. 

The man at the steering oar smiled grimly. 

‘‘Yes, miss, that’s right, they sure ought to hang 
the officer who runs down a liner on a clear night 
when he’s bound to see the lights plainly. I don’t 
make np excuses for him — it’s more’n murder.” 

“You were on watch, on duty — you are dressed?” 
said the girl. 

“Yes, I knowed it when I first seen you,” snarled 
the seaman. “I reckon you’re the man who did it 
— what was the matter ? Couldn’t you keep awake, 
or what?” The tone was a sneer, an insult, yet the 
sailor did wish to find out how so unusual a thing 
could happen as the running down of a ship on a 
clear night when her lights could be seen fifteen 
miles or more. 

James tried to defend himself. It was instinctive. 
The contempt of the sailor was too much. On other 
occasions, he never allowed the slightest insolence 
from the men of his own vessel. But now the offi- 
cer was numb, paralyzed. He was guilty — and he 
knew it. 

For hours they sat now in silence, the seaman 
holding the boat steady before the northeaster, 
which grew in power until by nine in the morning it 
was blowing a furious gale, and the sea was run- 
ning strongly with sweeping combers. There was 
nothing to do but keep the boat before it. To try 
to head any other way meant to risk her filling from 
a bursting sea. The exertion of steering was great. 
The seaman, with set face, held onto the oar, and 


THE LIGHT AHEAD 


61 


James could see the sweat start under the constant 
strain, but he said nothing — he waited. 

“You'll have to take her, sir — a while — I’m get- 
ting played out,” panted the man. 

“All right,” said James, “give her to me — 
now ” 

He took the oar during the backward slant as she 
dropped down the side of the sea that passed under 
her. He was ready for the rush as she rose and 
shot forward again upon the breaking crest of the 
following hill. The exercise did him good. It 
made him think clearly, it took his mind from the 
hopelessness of his life. 

All that day the two men took turns keeping the 
small boat before the sea ; and they ran to the south- 
ward a full half hundred miles before the gale let 
up. Both were too exhausted to talk, too thirsty to 
even speak — and there was neither water nor food 
in the boat. Her ration of biscuit and water had 
been lost when she had been drawn down by the 
sinking liner. 

The sailor had righted the boat after great effort, 
aided by the sea; and owing to the smoothness of 
the swell at the time he had managed to get her 
clear of water. Then he had picked up the girl 
who had been floating about, swimming and hold- 
ing onto fragments of wreckage since James’ boat 
had gone under. 

The mate noticed that, although the girl had not 
spoken to him again after knowing he had caused 
the disaster, she still wore his coat. He studied the 
matter, the inconsistency of women, and he thought 


62 


THE LIGHT AHEAD 


it strange. The sun shone for a moment before it 
set that evening; and in the glowing light James 
gazed steadily at the woman. She was very beau- 
tiful. She had not made a complaint since the 
morning. The sea was still running high, although 
the wind was going down with the sun, yet the girl 
had not been seasick, nor had she shown any suf- 
fering. 

‘TIow do you feel now?’’ he whispered, as he 
waited his turn at the oar. 

‘T’m all right, thank you. Do you think we will 
get picked up?” she said. 

“We’ll be picked up to-morrow — sure,” said the 
officer. “We are now right in the track of the West 
India ships, and will sight something by daylight 
when we can set a signal. Are you very thirsty?” 

“Tell me first, how did this accident occur? Were 
you really asleep, or just what? I can stand the 
thirst, and I’m warm enough now. This water is 
like milk in comparison with the air, it’s so warm.” 

“We are in the Stream,” said James; “the Gulf 
Stream, and that is about eighty along here — it’s 
better than freezing in the high latitudes.” 

“You haven’t answered my question,” said the 
girl. 

“I don’t know — I don’t remember what it was. I 
must have lost my head — been asleep — or something 
— yes, I was on duty, on watch — it was my fault en- 
tirely. I saw your ship, saw her red light to star- 
board — the right, you know. She had the right of 
way under the rules. I intended to swing off, waited 
a few minutes to see her better — then her green 


THE LIGHT AHEAD 


63 


light showed — and — then it was too late. I went 
hard aport, did my best — but hit her — we were go- 
ing very fast — both ships were going twenty-five 
knots — ^making the approaching speed fifty miles 
an hour — nearly a mile a minute — I must have lost 
my head just a moment — maybe I was dream- 
ing ’’ 

‘‘I know you are not to blame,” said the girl, plac- 
ing her hand in his. ‘‘You have told me the truth, 
a straight story — but yet I don’t see how it all hap- 
pened. I’m not a sailor, anyhow ; perhaps I couldn’t 
understand. But I feel you didn’t do it on pur- 
pose ” 

“No, no,” whispered James. “How could a man 
do a thing like that on purpose ?” He could not tell 
her the truth. He was ashamed to mention a 
woman, to say he was sullen, depressed, stupefied 
at the loss of a love he bore a woman. 

He took his place at the oar for the last time that 
night. The sea was no longer dangerous. They 
spoke of rigging a drag with the oar and thwarts, 
making a drag by the aid of the painter or line, 
which still was fast to her forward. They had 
finished this before dark, and then they lay down, 
exhausted. The girl stood watch. In the dim dawn 
the girl gave out. She had stood watch all night, 
and she was exhausted. 

“I understand,” she muttered to herself, “this 
poor fellow, this officer was tired out — he slept — I 
don’t blame him at all, it was not his fault.” 

The sun shone upon the three sleeping, the boat 
riding safely and dry to the drag made of the oar 


64 


THE LIGHT AHEAD 


and thwarts. James aroused himself first, awaken- 
ing dimly with the warmth of the sun. He sat 
up. The two others slept on. The girl was breath- 
ing loudly, almost panting, and her parted lips were 
blue. Yet she was beautiful. James knew it. She 
was exhausted, and help must come soon for her. 

He sat and gazed at the horizon, and when the 
sea lifted the boat, he stared hard all around to see 
if anything showed above the rim. Hours passed 
in this fashion. The girl moaned in her sleep. The 
sailor shifted uneasily, and grunted, snored, and 
murmured incoherently. They were all very thirsty. 

It was about ten o’clock in the morning that 
James saw something to the northward. It was 
just a speck, just a tiny dot on the rim of sea; but 
he knew it was a ship of some kind, a vessel pass- 
ing. The minutes dragged, and he was about to 
rouse the sailor to get him to help watch. Then he 
remembered how the fellow had striven so manfully 
the day before when they rode out the gale. No, he 
would let them sleep. 

By noon, the vessel was close aboard and com- 
ing slowly with the wind upon her port beam. She 
was a schooner bound south. James could see the 
lumber on her decks. Her three masts swung to 
and fro in the swell, and she made bad weather of 
the sluggish sea. The foam showed white under 
her forefoot, and told of the speed being at least a 
few knots an hour. James called the sailor. 

‘‘Get up — turn out — there’s a schooner along- 
side,” he said. The man moved slightly, and slept 
on. James shook him roughly. 


THE LIGHT AHEAD 


65 


“Lemme alone/’ muttered the seaman. 

‘‘Ship ahoy!” yelled the mate as the schooner 
came within a quarter of a mile and headed almost 
straight for them. He stood up and waved his 
arms. Nothing came of it. The girl awoke. She 
sat up and realized the position. ' In a moment she 
had taken off her skirt and handed it to the mate. 
He waved it wildly; and his yelling finally awoke 
the exhausted seaman. The man stood up and bawled 
loudly. Then he washed his mouth with salt water, 
and yelled again and again. James swung the skirt. 
The girl prayed audibly. 

The schooner stood right along on her course. 
She had not noticed the boat. Passing a few hun- 
dred fathoms from them caused all three to become 
frantic. The men bawled, cursed, and begged the 
schooner to take them in. 

The captain of the vessel, coming on deck, hap- 
pened to look in their direction. He spoke to the 
man at the wheel, who for the first time seemed to 
take his eyes from the compass card. Then, taking 
his glass, the captain saw that three living souls 
were in the small boat. The next instant he was 
bawling orders, and the schooner hauled her wind 
and came slatting into the breeze. 

Six men appeared on her deck. James saw them 
working to get the small boat clear from her stern 
davits. Then they seemed to realize that this was 
unnecessary, and the schooner, flattening in her 
sheets, worked up to them slowly, rising and fall- 
ing into the high swell. She stood across to wind- 


66 


THE LIGHT AHEAD 


ward, and then came about, easing off her sheets 
and drifting slowly down upon the boat. 

She drew close aboard. 

''Catch a line,’' yelled the captain from her deck. 

James waved his hand in reply, and a heaving 
line flaked out and fell across the boat’s gunwales. 

In another moment they were being hauled 
aboard. 

Explanations came at once. The master of the 
schooner was bound for South America. 

"Of course, I’ll put you all aboard the first home- 
ward-bound ship I fall in with,” said he. 

"But you surely will put us ashore at once,” said 
the girl, after she had drunk tea and changed her 
clothes. They were eating gingerly of ship’s food 
and drinking water ravenously. 

"That I cannot do, miss,” said the captain. "I’m 
bound to Valparaiso with cargo, and I must take it 
there.” 

"But we will pay you to take us ashore — ^pay you 
anything, for I am very rich,” said the girl. 

The master smiled sadly. The effects of the forty 
hours in the open boat were evidently having their 
effect upon the young woman. 

"No,” he said, "you go below, and the steward 
will give you all you want to eat, and your clothes 
will be dry enough to put on again before night. 
We might fall in with a ship bound north any time 
now. Then you’ll have a chance.” 

James knew the man was within his rights, of 
course. He was glad to be in the schooner. The 
sailor didn’t seem to mind where he went. One 


THE LIGHT AHEAD 


67 


ship was very much like another to him. The con- 
sul would be bound to ship him home, anyway. The 
girl was given a stateroom in the after cabin; and 
she soon slept the sleep of the exhausted. 

The mate stayed on deck. The whole thing had 
a strange look to him. He had decided to kill him- 
self. He dared not go back to the States, anyhow, 
to face the charges that would be made against him. 
He might slip overboard any night on the run down, 
and no one would be the wiser. 

The fact that the schooner was bound to South 
America seemed to give him a respite. There was 
no hurry to commit the desperate act that he felt 
he must, in all honor and decency, do. He might 
live a month at least before dying. 

After the awful struggle through the gale and 
shipwreck, he felt a desire to live more than before. 
The whole aflfair was more distant, almost effaced. 
And now he was not going back, anyhow. 

The captain asked him few questions regarding 
his wreck, seeming to feel a certain delicacy about 
it. The day passed, and the next and the next, and 
no ship was sighted going north. They were now 
drawing out of the track of vessels, and a strange 
hope arose with the mate that they would not meet 
one. 

The girl sat with him often, and they talked of 
other things than shipwreck. She was beautiful — 
there was no question about it. The glow of re- 
turning strength made her more lovely. James 
found himself wondering at her. She had been the 
only human being so far that would condescend to 


68 


THE LIGHT AHEAD 


speak to him without contempt. He was lonely, 
very lonely, and the girl seemed to feel he needed 
some one to cheer him up. She did not realize his 
weakness. He was very strong to her ; a strong man 
who had suffered from an accident, due, perhaps, 
to his carelessness, but not to criminal negligence. 
But he knew, he knew, and could not tell. 

The days passed, and the terror of the thing he 
had in his mind began to fade slightly. He knew 
he must die. The sailor, his shipmate who had been 
picked up with him, had told every one in the 
schooner that he, James, was on watch and was 
responsible for a terrible disaster, the death of a 
great number of persons. James saw it in their 
looks. He knew he would never get a ship again, 
never hold a place among white men. Yes, he 
must die. 

It gave him a sort of grim satisfaction to feel 
that he was just to live a certain length of time, 
that he would cut that short at the last moment. 
He wondered how a prisoner felt when the sentence 
of death was pronounced upon him. He had pro- 
nounced it upon himself. It was a genuine relief, 
for the vision of those terror-stricken, drowning 
passengers was always with him night and day, ex- 
cept when he was in a dreamless sleep. That sleep 
seemed to be portentous of what he would face. 

The days turned to weeks and the weeks to 
months. The voyage was long and the winds light. 
They were ninety days to the latitude of the Falk- 
lands when they struck a furious “williwaw” from 
the hills of Patagonia. The schooner was in a bad 


THE LIGHT AHEAD 


69 


fix. She was lightly manned ; and, in spite of the 
addition of James and the seaman from the wreck, 
she held her canvas too long. 

The struggle was short but terrific. The foretop- 
sail blew away and saved the mast; but the main 
held, and the topmast buckled and finally went by 
the board. The headsails had been lowered, but 
they blew out from the gaskets, and the jibboom 
snapped short off under the tremendous threshing 
of flying canvas. The maintopmast, hanging by the 
backstays, fell across the triatic stay, and the steel 
of the backstays cut into the spring until it finally 
parted under the jerks, and the mizzen was left to 
stand alone. It went by the board, and the great 
mast, snapping short at the partners, went over the 
side, and smashed and banged there at each heave 
of the ship. 

There was desperate work to do to save the ves- 
sel. Her master did wonders and showed his skill ; 
but the most dangerous and deadly task of going to 
leeward to cut adrift the lanyards was left to James. 
No one else would go. 

James was a powerful man, ^nd had won his way 
to an officer’s berth by endeavor, not by nepotism. 
His hope was that he might be killed in the struggle. 
He dared anything, tried to do the impossible — 
and did it. How he succeeded in clearing away the 
wreck of that mast remains a mystery to those who 
watched him. He was almost dead when dragged 
back and the schooner floated clear. 

The girl had seen the whole affair from the glass 
of the companionway. She had held her breath, 


70 


THE LIGHT AHEAD 


almost fainted again and again at the sight of 
Janies in that fight for life. To her it was simply 
grand, tremendous — she had never been touched by 
a man’s heroism before. 

When it was all over and the schooner, dismantled 
and storm-driven, lay riding down the giant seas 
that swept around the Horn in the Pacific Antarctic 
Drift, she watched over and attended the officer as 
he lay in his bunk with a broken arm, a cut across 
the head, and the toes of one foot gone. She knew 
that there was something behind the will to do as 
James had done. But she could not fathom it, could 
not tell why he was unresponsive. He lay silent 
mostly, and seldom looked at her. Yet he was sane 
in his conversation, not delirious in any way. It 
worried her. It caused that peculiar thing that is 
in every woman to make the man she admires re- 
sponsive. And the more she showed her feelings, 
the less he seemed to care. It ended the way it 
usually does under such conditions. She fairly wor- 
shiped him. 

After that storm the weather grew very calm. 
The dark ocean seemed to be at rest for a spell. 
The schooner was now to the south’ard of the Falk- 
lands, and the captain decided that he would not 
venture around the Horn in the desperate condition 
he was in. Stanley Harbor was under his lee, and 
he bore away for it. Then, with the perversity of 
the southern zone, the wind hauled to the eastward 
and blew steadily for a week; blew right in their 
faces. 

James came on deck before they were within a 


THE LIGHT AHEAD 


71 


hundred miles of the land. He sat about in the 
cold of the evening wrapped up in rugs, and the 
girl waited upon him, brought him anything he 
wished. In the long hours of daylight — for it was 
light enough to read until midnight — ^they sat near 
the taffrail. The captain said nothing; he would 
not notice. He liked the man who had saved his 
ship. The girl was sympathetic, and James often 
held her hand. She did not attempt to withdraw it. 

But he would not tell her he cared for her. That 
was absurd. He had already sacrificed his life. He 
was as good as dead. Yet he wondered at the pas- 
sion that had brought him into such desperate 
trouble and had caused so much ruin and death. 
He pondered silently, and now often watched the 
girl furtively. 

Into the beautiful harbor, the great fiord of Port 
Stanley, they came, the schooner making fairly good 
way in spite of her crippled condition. Her arrival 
was greeted with joyous acclaim by the land sharks, 
who smelled the wound and saw the damage. They 
would make a good haul. Ships didn’t come often 
— but when they did, well, they paid. 

The governor was notified of the arrival. He 
was told everything but the relation of the pas- 
sengers to the ships to which they originally be- 
longed. The master was generous; and, besides, it 
was not America they were now in. It was an out- 
lying foreign colony at the edge of the world, a 
place where one seldom went or heard from. They 
might go ashore if they wished. The seaman asked 


72 


THE LIGHT AHEAD 


to remain aboard. He was allowed to do so, and 
consequently did not go ashore and talk too much. 

James passed that last night in high spirits. He 
was going out on his last voyage. He was going 
to die, going to leave the woman who he knew 
loved him, who had been so sympathetic, so lovable. 
They were on deck a long time that evening, and 
the captain, being wise and old enough to under- 
stand, did not molest them. 

“Good night,'’ she said finally. “Good night. I’ll 
see you to-morrow before we go ashore. We can 
take the ship across to the straits, and meet the regu- 
lar liner as she comes through from Punta Arenas. 
We’ll be home again in a few weeks.” 

“Good-by,” he said simply. That was all. She 
went below. 

Shortly after four bells — two o’clock in the morn- 
ing — James, with set face and grim resolution, stole 
on deck. He gazed up at the Southern Cross for a 
few moments, at the beautiful constellation that he 
would see for the last time ; then at the grim, bar- 
ren hills back of the settlement. 

It was a farewell look, his farewell to things in 
this world. He was determined not to be disgraced. 
He would die like a man, as he could no longer live 
like one. 

Then he dropped softly over the side, and sank 
down — down into the quiet waters of Stanley 
Harbor. 

The instinct of woman is often more certain than 
her reason. The girl had noticed something strange 


THE LIGHT AHEAD 


73 


in the man’s behavior. She had woman’s instinct 
to divine its cause. She had not gone to bed 
that night, but waited to see just what might 
happen to the man who owned her very soul. She 
had not realized before that she loved this officer, 
this man who had confessed partly to his disgrace. 
The realization awakened her wits. She would see 
what he meant. 

At the slight splash, she was on deck in an in- 
stant. Her first thought was to call for help. Then 
she knew to do so was to call for an explanation; 
and she realized the disgrace that would follow in- 
stantly upon the explanation. She seized a life buoy 
always hanging upon the taffrail, and with it 
dropped over the side. 

She swam silently toward a spot that showed dis- 
turbed water rapidly drifting astern with the tide. 
Within a minute she had reached the form of James, 
who had not placed enough weights in his clothes 
to insure quick sinking. He was lying silently upon 
his back, waiting — waiting for the end that must 
come shortly. 

‘‘Swim with me,” she pleaded. “You must — 
come with me — we’ll swim ashore together.” 

Before the morning dawned, the pair were upon 
the beach, several miles distant from the schooner. 
James saw he was doomed to life. He could not even 
die. Then the beauty of the woman, the sympathy, 
the love he could not deny, had its way with him, 
and they decided to vanish into the country, to dis- 
appear together. 

This might or might not have been hard to do in 


74 


THE LIGHT AHEAD 


the islands where every one is well known. But it 
happened that Captain Black, of the whaling station 
situated near the entrance of the fiord, was on deck 
that morning. He saw an amazing thing, a woman 
and a man swimming together, and finally mak- 
ing the land near the point. 

Calling a couple of men, he started for them in 
his whaleboat, and caught up with them before they 
had gone more than a few fathoms from the shore. 
They were chilled through, cold and exhausted. He 
took them aboard the whaling steamer, and soon 
saw that he had a seaman of parts in Mr. James. 
Men were hard to get. All of his crews were con- 
victs or ticket-of-leave men; and the addition of a 
man even with a wife was something to be taken 
advantage of. 

He took James aside and asked him a few ques- 
tions. He was satisfied that he would not get into 
trouble by giving the officer a billet ; and he forth- 
with made him one of the company in charge of a 
small boat. The affair would be kept secret, and 
the governor would be told nothing. He probably 
would not ask too many questions, anyhow. 

'T shall ship you both to the north’ard station, 
fifty miles up the coast. You can have a shack 
there — plenty of peat for fires and good grub — Til 
inspect you once a month. Johnson will be in 
charge of the station. You can take this letter to 
him. Your wife can go with you if you wish.'' 

James looked at the girl. She nodded her head. 

“Is there a priest about here?" asked James. 

“Yes. Why?" asked Black. 


THE LIGHT AHEAD 


75 


“Well, if you’ll kindly send for him, he can marry 
us before we start.” 

Back of the northward station, on the ramp that 
rises sheer back from the beach like a table-land, 
there are a few cottages. These are occupied by the 
crews of the whaling station and their families. In 
one of them is a handsome woman with two little 
tots — happy- faced and smiling she is. But she 
seems a bit out of place in her surroundings. Mrs. 
James Smith they call her, and she is apparently 
very happy, very happy indeed, in spite of it all. 

James Smith is the best gun pointer in the fleet, 
the best harpooner with the gun-firing harpoon. He 
is a sober, quiet, steady man, who has nothing now 
of the ship’s officer about him. He never talks of 
wrecks. If some one starts a conversation regard- 
ing them — and they are much hoped for in the 
Falklands — he goes away. 

Sometimes in Jack’s saloon down at Stanley, he 
has been known to sit and stare out over the dark 
ocean, to sit and often mutter: 

“Was it right, after all — was it worth while — 
was it?” 

But he is a sober, quiet, industrious man, who 
goes about his duties without enthusiasm, without 
effort. 


THE WRECK OF THE “RATH- 
BONE” 

E ight bells, sir/’ came the voice from with- 
out, following the rap, rap upon the door 
of my room. I had just five minutes to 
dress myself and get out, and I rolled over, listening 
to the sounds on deck. As I had only taken off my 
sea boots, I was in no hurry to turn to. My sou’- 
wester hung upon a peg, but my oilskin jacket was 
still buttoned up close about my neck, where it had 
been during my sleep ; and the oilskin trousers 
scraped noisily as I slid my legs to the edge of the 
bunk. 

I had slept three hours and forty minutes, and 
must go out and relieve Slade, the second mate, 
who had, in turn, relieved me at the end of the mid- 
watch. It was now just five minutes of four in the 
morning, a cold, snowy nor’easter blowing, and the 
brig running wildly into the thick of it. 

We had cleared from New York for Rio, and 
were trying to run out into the warm Gulf Stream 
before the gale overblew us and forced us to heave 
to, to ride it down. January at sea on the coast 
was hard, indeed. 

I swore at the hard luck, for my sleep had seemed 

76 


WRECK OF THE ^^RATHBONE^’ 


77 


just an instant, just a second’s unconsciousness, and 
I was stiff and soaked with sea water; so cold that 
I had to keep on my oilskins to sleep at all. I had 
finally steamed my body, incased as it was, into 
some sort of warmth, and the first movement sent 
the chills running down my spine. I threw off my 
blankets and stood shivering, trying, to jam my feet 
into the wet boots as the bells struck off, and I was 
due on deck. 

Slade stood with his shoulders hunched to his 
ears at the break of the poop, holding to the rail 
to steady himself as the brig plunged and tore along 
under a reefed fore-topsail and close-reefed spanker, 
with the wind abaft the beam. The gray light of 
the winter morning had not come yet, and the snow 
beat upon my face, as if some invisible hand hurled 
it from the utter blackness to windward. 

The dull, snoring roar of the wind under the feet 
of the topsail told of the increasing velocity of the 
squalls; and the quick, live jerk of the ship as she 
went rushing along the crest of a roller for an in- 
stant, and then slid along the weather side, dropping 
stern foremost into the trough, with a heave to 
windward, indicated that we were doing all we 
could. 

‘‘Southeast b’south!” yelled Slade into my ear. 
“You’ll have to watch her.” 

I knew what he meant. She was steering hard, 
and might broach to in any careless moment. 

“Call the old man if there’s any change,” he 
added, and stumbled down the poop steps to the 
main deck, where the watch were huddled under the 


78 WRECK OF THE ^^RATHBONE'^ 


lee of the deck house. Then he disappeared aft, 
and the night swallowed him up. 

I made my way to the wheel. Bill, a strong West 
Indian negro, was holding her steady enough, meet- 
ing her as she came to and swung off. He was as- 
sisted by Jones, a sturdy little fellow with a big 
shock head. I could just make out their faces in 
the light from the binnacle, which burned, for a 
wonder, in spite of the gale. It generally blew out 
in spite of all we could do to keep the lamps lit. 
Beyond was a hopeless blackness. 

I went to the weather rail and tried to see to 
windward. A fleeting glimpse of a white comber 
caught my gaze close aboard; but beyond a few 
fathoms I could see nothing at all. Aft under the 
stern the torrent of dead water boiled and roared, 
showing a sickly flare from the phosphorus. We 
were going some, probably twelve or fifteen knots 
an hour; and right ahead was nothing — that is, 
nothing we could see; just a black wall of darkness. 

Vainly I tried to make out the light of the com- 
ing morning; but the snow squalls shut off every- 
thing. Pete, sharp-eyed fellow of my watch, was 
on lookout on the forecastle head. I knew Pete’s 
eyes were the best ever, but he could see nothing 
in that wild gale of snow and sleet and inky dark- 
ness. I went to the break of the poop again, and 
hailed the deck below. 

“Keep a sharp lookout ahead, there,” I said, bawl- 
ing the words out to reach through the storm. Then 
I stood waiting, for there was nothing else to do. 

Two bells came — five o’clock — and the watch re- 


WRECK OF THE ^‘RATHBONE^’ 


79 


ported all well and the lights burning brightly. Our 
starboard and port — green and red — lights were 
none too bright at any time, yet they were well 
within the law, and had served the ship for five 
years or more. 

I answered the hail, and stood trying again to 
see something over the black hills of water that 
were rushing to the southwest under the pressure 
of the gale. Something made me very nervous. I 
began to shiver, and the snow struck my face and 
melted enough to run down my neck, making me 
miserable, indeed. I still stood gazing right ahead 
into the night, hoping for the dawn which was now 
due in another hour, when I heard a yell from the 
forecastle head. 

‘‘Light dead ahead, sir,"' came the hail. 

I looked and saw nothing, but took Pete’s word 
for it. 

“Keep her off all she’ll go,” I roared to the wheel. 

And just as I felt her swing her stern to the fol- 
lowing sea, I saw close to us the green light of a 
steamer, and above it her masthead light. Then 
the thing happened. 

A wild cry from forward, followed by the loom 
of a gigantic object in the gloom ahead. We were 
upon the vessel in f, moment. 

A tremendous crash, grinding, tearing, splinter- 
ing. The brig staggered, seemed to stop suddenly, 
and then the deep, roaring note of the gale smoth- 
ered the rest. 

We struck, fairly head on, swung to, glanced 
along the ship’s side, and were lying dismasted in 


80 WRECK OF THE ^HiATHBONH^ 


the trough of the sea, our foremast over the side, 
and nothing but the lower main mast standing. The 
seas tore over us, and we lay like a log, while the 
shadow of the steamer passed slowly astern. 

The old man was on deck before I knew just 
what had happened. So also was Slade. The 
smashing and grinding of the wreckage alongside 
told of the spars; but we were too stunned to think 
of them. 

Was the hull split open with that furious impact? 
That was the thought in our minds. Ours was a 
wooden vessel — little, light, and very strong. Did 
we ram our plank ends in? If so, we were lost 
men, all of us. 

It was fully a half minute before we spoke of 
it. We knew just what to do, but we were stunned 
for a few moments. Then we made for the main 
deck, and tried the pumps. The water was com- 
ing in lively. 

“All hands on the pumps!” came the skipper’s 
order; and we manned the brakes with the feeling 
that it was just a respite, just a little time to lose. 
The men took to them with a will, however; but I 
had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, 
and I worked half-heartedly for a few minutes, until 
I brought myeslf around with a jerk. I was mate. 
I had the responsibility. And more than that — it 
had happened in my watch on deck. I was the one 
who must do the most. 

“Come along, bullies — get a couple of axes!” I 
roared, and made my way to the weather fore chan- 
nels, where the rigging of the topmast and lower 


WRECK OF THE ^'RATHBONW^ 


81 


mast held the wreckage alongside, being drawn taut, 
as it were, across the deck, the spars to leeward, and 
banging and pounding against the ship with each 
surge. ‘‘Get into those lanyards V and they chopped 
away in the gray light of the morning, cutting 
everything they could, and clearing the weather rig- 
ging of the strain. 

The wreckage now hung by the lee rigging, and 
drifted farther aft. The wheel was lashed hard 
down, and a bit of spanker raised again upon the 
mainmast, the halyards still being intact, although 
the boom had been broken by the shock. We soon 
had canvas on her aft, and she headed the sea, drop- 
ping back from the wreckage to a mooring hawser 
bent to the standing rigging of the foremast. We 
got a lashing to the foot of the mast, and she 
dragged the mass broadside, making a lee of it, and 
riding easily to the heavy seas, which now took her 
almost dead on her bows. 

When I had a chance to look about me again, 
the light of the morning had grown to its full 
height, and we were able to see around us. 

The gray light made things look almost hopeless 
for us. The pump^ worked full stroke, and the 
water gained rapidly on us. There had been three 
feet made during the first half hour. We were set- 
tling, and the brig was riding more heavily, taking 
the seas over her head with a smothered feeling that 
told of what was coming. 

I had a chance to breathe again, and I looked out 
over the gray ocean, where the white combers rolled 
and the heavy clouds swept along close to their tops. 


WRECK OF THE ‘^RATHBONE^* 


A large, black object showed to the westward of us, 
and we recognized her as a steamer. She was very 
low in the water, and upon her rigging floated the 
signal, 'We are sinking.'' She was the one we had 
run down. 

The old man stood gazing at her as I came on 
the poop. He was trying to make her out; and 
this he did finally, when the wind stretched her flag 
in a direction so that we could see it plainly. She 
was one of the Havana steamers bound up from 
Cuba, and was about five thousand tons. Her num- 
ber was that of the William Rathbone. 

“No better fix than we are,’^ snarled the skipper. 
“What was the matter ? Didn’t you see him ? He’s 
hig enough.” 

“Too dark,” I said. “You know what kind of a 
night it was — look at it now. We might do some- 
thing if we were sure of floating ourselves — no boat 
would live in this sea five minutes; but it’ll smooth 
out, maybe ” 

“Maybe blow a hurricane !” howled the old man, 
his voice rising above the gale. “Get the boats ready, 
anyhow — get the steward to put all the grub he can 
get in them — too bad, too bad,” he went on. 

While Slade helped to get the boats ready for 
leaving the brig, I went to the bow and tried to see 
just what damage we had done ourselves. It was 
dangerous work, as the seas came over in solid 
masses, and more than once I came near getting 
washed overboard. Splintered plank ends, a crushed 
stem showed through the wreck of the bowsprit, 
which still hung by the bobstays and shrouds. 


WRECK OF THE ^^RATHBONH' 


83 


jammed foul of the catheads, so that only the end 
swung, and struck us a blow now and then. It 
was a hopeless mess. 

A great sea rose ahead, with its crest lifting for 
a break, and I ducked behind the windlass, holding 
on with both hands. The solid water swept over 
the bows, and I was almost drowned ; but I held on. 
There was nothing I could do forward, and no men 
could work there. The steady grind of the pumps 
took the place of desperate rushing about the decks. 
The men stood in water to their knees as the seas 
swept her, but they still kept it up. As fast as one 
man gave out another took his place, regardless of 
watch ; and the waiting ones chafed under the shel- 
ter of the mainmast. 

The boats were on booms over the forward house, 
where the seas could not wash them away; and 
Slade had them all ready to leave, although it was 
a study how to get them overboard in that sea with 
nothing forward to raise them with. The main- 
stay still held, and the mainmast was strong enough ; 
but there was nothing forward at all above them. 
I went aft and waited. 

Old Captain Gantline was still standing at the 
poop rail watching the steamer. Our drift was 
about equal to hers, and we sagged off to leeward 
together, keeping about a mile apart. The steamer 
was settling. 

‘‘Of course, he ought to have gone clear of us!’' 
howled the old man as I came up. “I don’t blame 
you, Mr. Garnett ; I don’t blame you — but you cer- 
tainly swung us off at the last minute when you 


84^ WRECK OF THE ^^RATHBONE^^ 

knew the law was to hold your course, and let him 
get out of our way/’ 

‘'But he was dead ahead, sir. I saw his lights 
right aboard. To luff meant to come to in that sea, 
and that would have been just as bad, for he’d 
have struck us aft — probably cut us in two.” 

I really had done nothing out of the way. The 
steamer had not seen us, that was certain. I was 
supposed, under the law, to hold on until the last 
moment, and I had done so. I had only swung her 
off a little ; tried to clear when I saw he would not. 
I knew the law well enough, and had followed it 
up to the moment of striking. Our swing off had 
made our bows fetch up against the steamer, and 
had probably caused him serious damage. But it 
had saved us from being cut down by her sharp 
steel stem, which would have gone through our 
wooden side as if through butter. 

No, I did not feel guilty; although there were 
evidently some hundred passengers and crew of that 
ship in dire peril and sore put to it. The old man 
knew I had done the best thing I could for us, and 
there was no possible way of avoiding a collision 
in a wild, thick night like the last when the ships 
were invisible but a few fathoms distant. 

We waited, and the brig settled slowly, while the 
wind still held from the northeast, and the sea still 
ran strong and high. There was apparently no 
chance for launching a small boat. The scud 
flew fast and the gray wind-swept ocean looked 
ugly enough, the surface covered with white. The 
steamer was slowly sinking, like ourselves, an4 


WRECK OF THE ^^RATHBONH^ 


85 


it was only a question whether either would go 
through the day or not. I hoped that it would not 
come in the night. There’s something peculiarly 
nerve-racking in wild night work in a sinking ship. 
The very absence of light lends terror to the al- 
ready awful situation, and the wild rush of the wind 
and seas makes chaos of the blackness about. 

The day dragged slowly. It was like waiting for 
the end of the world. The vessels drifted apart but 
another mile or two, and we were still close enough 
to exchange signals. We had long ago run ours up, 
telling that the same state of affairs existed aboard 
the brig. If some passing coasting steamer came 
along, all might still be well with the passengers 
and crews of both of us. But not a sign of any- 
thing showed above the horizon. 

At five o’clock — two bells— that evening, the brig 
was well down in the water ; and she was taking the 
seas nastily over her. The main deck was all but 
impossible to remain upon, and the men at the 
pumps had to lash themselves to keep there. It 
would be only a question of a few hours now. The 
drawn faces told of the strain. Slade, the second 
mate, came to me. 

‘‘All over but the shouting,” he said. “How’ll we 
ever get them boats clear in this sea?” 

“Better start now before it’s too late,” I said, and 
went to the old man for orders. 

“All right, get them over,” said the old man, in 
answer to my question; and we started on the last 
piece of work we were to do in that brig. 

Bill, the West Indian negro; Wilson; Peter, the 


86 WRECK OF THE ^^RATHBONE^’ 


Dutchman; and Jones were to row; and, with my- 
self at the steering oar in command, made the work- 
ing crew. Besides these men we had three others, 
making eight men all told for our boat. Slade went 
with the old man, dividing the little crew up evenly. 

We had a good crew. Long training in that little 
ship had made them good men. But for their steadi- 
ness we would never have got those boats clear. It 
was desperate work getting them over the side with- 
out smashing them. With a tackle upon the main, 
however, we managed to lift them clear and let 
them swing ai^t, lifting and guying them out by 
hand. Then we dropped them over the quarter, and 
let them tow astern to the end of a long line, and 
they rode free, being lighter than the ship and pull- 
ing dead to leeward. 

I was the first to leave, as became my place. The 
old man, as captain, must be the last. I hauled the 
boat up, and we climbed in, jumping the now short 
distance as she took the seas and rose close to the 
taffrail. The brig was very low, and settling fast. 

'‘Go to the steamer first,” said the old man; “then 
head westerly until you get picked up or get ashore. 
We are not more than one hundred and fifty miles 
off — good-by.” 

I dropped over, and the line was cast off, letting 
the boat drift slowly back, but still heading the sea 
so that she rode almost dry, in spite of the combers. 

The Rathbone was in view about three miles dis- 
tant, and by the weight upon the four oars we held 
her so that she drifted off bodily in that direction, 
while still heading well up to the wind. There was 


WRECK OF THE ‘^RATHBONH^ 


8T 


plenty of light left yet, but there was a night com- 
ing, and I hoped we would get a chance to board 
the big vessel before it was black dark. Perhaps 
she was not so dangerously hurt as she looked. 

I saw the old man's boat come away and take the 
general direction of our own; but the seas w^ere too 
high to see her often. She was evidently making 
good weather of it, and I thanked the lucky stars 
that we had whaleboats for our business, and not 
the tin things they use for lifeboats in steamers. 

By keeping the boat’s head quartering to the wind 
and sea, she drifted bodily off toward the Rathbone, 
and before dark we drew close aboard. 

There was much action taking place on her decks 
as we came close enough to see. Passengers ran 
about, and forms of seamen dashed fore and aft. 
It was evident that they were hurrying for some 
purpose, and that purpose showed as we noted the 
list to starboard the ship had. She was very low 
forward, and seemed to be ready to take the final 
plunge any moment. 

Our boat had been pretty badly smashed getting 
her overboard, and she was leaking badly from the 
started seams. In that strong, rolling sea she had 
all she could do with the crew in her; and I fer- 
vently hoped that I would not be called upon to take 
passengers. Four rowing and three for relief was 
all right, but a dozen more would swamp her. 

We came close under the Rathbone' s lee. She lay 
broadside to the sea, and her high stern, raised as it 
were by her sinking head, shut off the sweep of the 
combers. 


88 WRECK OF THE ^‘RATHBONE’^ 


“Steady your oars,” I commanded, as we came 
within a few fathoms. A man in uniform rushed 
to the ship’s rail and hailed us through a megaphone. 
He was followed by several passengers. 

“Can you come aboard and help us?” he bawled. 
“We’re sinking — all the boats gone to starboard — 
captain killed and chief mate knocked on the head 
by wreckage.” 

“Men have refused duty,” howled a man standing 
near him. “Mutiny aboard, and we’re going down 
— come aboard and help us.” 

While they hailed, I noticed the boats to port 
going over the side. One had already gone down, 
but she had fouled her falls, and had dropped end 
up, smashing against the ship’s side and filling. 
Struggling men tried to clear her, but the sea was 
too heavy. A life raft was pushed over the rail, 
and fell heavily close to us, held by a line. It 
surged in the lee, and, as the ship drifted down, it 
struck her heavily, smashing the platform. 

“Don’t go, sir,” said Jake, in a voice that barely 
reached me. 

“We’ll have troubles enough of our own,” said 
another. 

“Shut up, there are passengers — don’t you see the 
women? — we’ve got to help them,” I said. 

I looked for the other boat. It was not in sight. 
The forms of two women came to the rail, one a 
young girl. 

“Throw me a line,” I yelled to the man in uni- 
form. 


WRECK OF THE ^^RATHBONE'^ 


89 


A small line came sailing across the boat. I seized 
it, and went forward. 

“Jake and you, Bill, come with me, the rest lie 
by — keep her clear whatever you do,’’ I said, and 
waved my hand to those above to haul away. With 
the bowline under my arms, I was soon on deck. 
Then I helped to haul my two men up. 

“I’m the second,” said the man in uniform; “but 
I can’t make ’em do anything. Just stretched one 
out when the rest knocked me over and took to the 
boats.” 

Without delay we made , our way along the port 
rail to amidships, where the boats were being low- 
ered. Men crowded around them, and fought for 
places. The fireroom crew, white-skinned and partly 
clothed, their pale faces dirty with coal dust, stood 
around the nearest boat, and worked at the lashings, 
cursing, swearing, and shoving each other in the 
suppressed panic of men who. are hurrying from 
death. 

The canvas covering was ripped off, and four 
men sprang into her, the rest shoving her bodily 
outboard. The men at the falls howled and swore, 
slacked off without regard to consequences, and the 
craft dropped a few feet, then swung off, and came 
with a crash against the side. 

“Fine discipline,” I said to the second mate, who 
was close to me. 

A form touched my elbow. I turned, and saw a 
young girl. 

“Aren’t they going to take us along with them?” 
she asked quietly, but with a voice full of pleading. 


90 WRECK OF THE ^^RATHBONH^ 


I looked at her. She was not over twenty, and 
very pretty. Her big eyes were looking right into 
mine. 

‘'Sure, lady, you shall go/' I said. 

Jake and Bill stood right behind me. 

“Have you a gun ?" I asked the officer. 

“No; haven’t got a thing — let’s hoof ’em.” 

“Avast slacking that boat down,” I roared, rush- 
ing in. 

“Tell it to George,” snarled a big fireman, shov- 
ing me aside. 

I hooked him under the jaw with all my strength, 
and he staggered back. Jake slammed the next man 
in the stomach, while the second officer waded in 
now, striking right and left in the press. 

“Get back — stand back!” we roared; and, for a 
wonder, forced our way along the ship’s side, taking 
the falls. 

“Get a line below the block hook. Hold her off,” 
came the order, and some one passed a line at the 
after fall, while a man in the boat pushed manfully 
against the ship’s side to steady her. 

“Now, then, slack away together,” I yelled; and 
Bill, who had the forward fall, slacked off with me, 
and the craft went rushing down just as the ship 
rolled to leeward. She struck the sea, the block un- 
hooked; and, as the sinking ship rolled up, she fell 
clear, and hung to her painter. We had got one 
down all right. The men then rushed. 

Four of us fought back with all our might; but 
the weight of frantic men was too heavy for us. 
We were forced back and down, struggling under 


WRE( K OF THE ^‘RATHBONE^^ 


91 


the crush of fighting firemen and seamen, who 
trampled, struck, and then tore loose to slide down 
the hanging boat falls or jump over into the sea, 
to climb in the floating craft below. The men below 
in the boat saw they would be swamped by numbers, 
and cut the painter. She drifted off, then crashed 
.Ufr'against the ship’s side, and finally swept around 
the stern, where she met the sea. That was the last 
I saw of her. 

With my clothes half torn off, oilskins hanging 
in rags, my face bleeding, and utterly exhausted, I 
got to my feet, and we made for the next boat. 
The press about her was not so great, and we man- 
aged to make way against it. It was the last boat, 
and the remaining few men left aboard were not 
enough to hold us. Among them were some pas- 
sengers, whom we got aboard — four of them — and 
then finally sent the boat down clear. I looked 
around for the girl. Two women were in the boat, 
and the second officer said there was another 
aboard. I was out of breath, and stood panting a 
few moments, gazing aft through the bloom of the 
evening trying to see what had become of that girl. 
She was not in sight. I remembered she was near 
the other boat. 

“I’ll run aft and try to find her,” I yelled, and 
rushed down the deck. 

At the door of the saloon I saw a form huddled 
up on a transom just inside. 

“Come,” I called roughly; “come along, quick — 
the boat’s waiting.” 

“Oh, it’s you,” she said ; and I saw it was the girl 


92 WRECK OF THE ^^RATHhONE'* 


I was looking for. She sat up. “Did you ever see 
such brutes?” 

“Never mind that now. Get a move on — ^the boat 
won’t wait.” 

As I spoke, I felt the ship drop suddenly forward. 
I turned quickly, and gazed forward. It was almost 
dark now; but I could see the white surge burst 
over the forecastle head. 

“She’s going,” I yelled, and grabbed the girl. 

A great sea crashed against the house, bursting 
it in, roaring, smashing, and pouring like a Ni- 
agara into the saloon. The deck forward had gone 
under, the stern was rising high in the air, and the 
slanting deck told me there was not a second to lose. 

The girl sprang up, and we dashed together to 
the taffrail, which was now fully twenty feet above 
the sea. There was nothing below but that life raft, 
the boats had gone to leeward to keep clear. With- 
out a moment’s hesitation, I dropped the girl into 
the sea, and sprang a*fter her. ^ 

Hampered with my ragged slothes and oilskins, 
I could hardly swim a stroke. A rushing comber 
struck me, and I felt myself going down, unable to 
fight any longer. My breath was gone. 

When I came to I was lying upon the life raft, 
and the girl was clinging to me with one hand, and 
passing one of the lashings of the raft with the 
other. It was black dark. Only the rushing seas 
about me told of our whereabouts; and the wild 
flings of the raft as it swept along with the rush 
made me aware of the present. I tried to see, raised 
my head, and felt very weak. 


WRECK OF THE *^RATHBONE*^ 


93 


‘'How’d we get here?’' I asked. 

‘‘I grabbed you and pulled you up," she said 
simply. ‘‘You were hit on the head by it — better 
tie yourself fast with that piece of cord, I can’t hold 
you any longer." 

I took a few turns of the side lashings of the 
raft about our bodies, and, as the seas washed us, I 
noticed that the water felt so much warmer than 
the air. We were clear of the sea a few inches, 
but each comber dashed over and soaked us, wash- 
ing so heavily that it was necessary to hold one’s 
head up in order to breathe freely. 

“Did you see the boats?" I asked. “They’ll pick 
us up presently." 

“No; I couldn’t see anything. I had all I could 
do to pull you on the raft. You’re pretty heavy, you 
know. Then I had to hold you for what seemed 
an hour, but maybe was only a few minutes. Do 
you think they’ll find us?" 

“Sure. They wouldn’t leave us. Ship went 
down, didn’t it — rather sudden, and they had to let 
go. My men will stand by if it takes all night," I 
said. 

“I sincerely hope you are right about it. I don’t 
much fancy this raft for a place to spend the night. 
Will we be drowned on it, do you think?" 

“No fear; we’re all right. It can’t sink. All we 
have to do is to keep a lookout for a boat and sing 
out for help. Why, there’s five boats altogether, 
counting ours. Five boats, and it’s just dark, not 
after six or seven o’clock at the most." 


94 WRECK OF THE ^‘RATHBONE^^ 


‘'How far from land are we?” she asked, seem- 
ingly cheered but still somewhat doubtful. 

“Not far,” I lied. I thought of a hundred and 
fifty miles of floating to get in — if the boats didn’t 
pick us up. I began to experience that sinking feel- 
ing that comes to many when the outlook seems 
pretty bad. 

The girl was silent for some time after this, and 
seemed to be thinking of her troubles, for once she 
gave a little gasp of complaint. 

“Cheer up,” I said; “don’t give way to it yet. 
We’ll be all right soon.” 

As the hours passed and no boat come near, I be- 
gan to feel very nervous. I could see but a few 
fathoms distant, and knew the chances were grow- 
ing less and less. I hailed the blackness, bawled 
out as loud as I could, keeping it up at minute in- 
tervals. The wind seemed to be going down, but 
the sea still ran quickly, and was high and strong, 
lifting the raft skyward at each roll, and then drop- 
ping it down gently into the hollow trough. We 
felt the wind only when on the top of the seas, and 
it chilled us; but the warm edge of the Gulf Stream 
soaked us, and we could stand it for a long time. 
The sea was as warm as milk. 

How that long night passed I don’t know. It 
seemed like eternity. Several times I lost con- 
sciousness, whether from exhaustion or from the 
blow I had received upon the head I cannot say. I 
held to the girl, and together we stood it out. Our 
lashings kept us upon the piece of platform remain- 


WRECK OF THE ^^RATHBONE^' 


95 


ing* upon the two hollow iron cylinders comprising 
the raft. 

The girl lost her power of speech some time dur- 
ing the night, and seemed to faint, her head drop- 
ping upon the slats of the platform. I held it up 
to keep the water from her nose and mouth, and 
finally propped her head so that little water broke 
over it. It was all I could do. 

The raft swung around and around, sometimes 
with the sea on one side and then with it upon an- 
other. I felt for the oarlock, which is usually placed 
at either end to steer by, but it was gone. So also 
were the oars that had been placed between the cyl- 
inders and the platform. We simply had a float, 
that kept us bodily out of the sea, and that was all. 

After hours and hours of this wild pitching and 
rushing upon the crests of high, rolling seas, the 
motion began to get easier, and I noticed that the 
wind was rapidly falling. The crests no longer 
broke with the furious rush and tumble as formerly. 
Then the gray light of dawn came, and I began to 
see about us. 

The form of the girl lay alongside me, lashed to 
the platform. Her hair trailed into the sea in long 
tresses from her head, and her face was white as 
chalk. I thought she was dead, and shook her to 
see if there was any life to stir up. She lay limp. 
I took her hand and felt the wrist. A slight pulse 
told of the vital spark still burning. It seemed 
brutal to arouse her, to bring her back to the horror 
of her position. But I felt that it was best. I 
called to her, and she finally opened her eyes. 


96 WRECK OF THE ^^RATHBONE^* 

She shivered, placed one arm under her, and then 
raised herself painfully into a sitting posture. 

“Cut the cord around my wrist, will you, please ?” 
she said. “I promise not to fall off.” 

“Better let it stay,” I said. “I’ll loose it so you 
can move about a little. Seems like they missed us 
in the dark.” 

“Well, do you still think they’ll pick us up? See ; 
it’s light now, the sun is coming up. I don’t know 
as I care very much. Do you?” 

“Sure I care. Why not? We’ll be all right 
soon.” 

She let ner head fall forward, and gave a little 
sob; just a bit of a cry. 

“Well, then I’m glad I pulled you out of the 
water,” she said. “Seems like we might just as 
well have gone during the night. Do you really 
think it’s worth struggling for like this? Life is 
good — and I want to live — but this is too hard — 
too terrible — and my poor mother ” 

“We’ll be picked up before breakfast, sure,” I 
said. “The boats must have drifted just the same 
as ourselves. Something’ll come along soon.” 

And yet deep down in me I knew that this was 
a bare chance. We were out of the track of ships, 
well off shore for the coasters, and not far enough 
for the Bermuda ships, like the Rathhone, which 
had stopped at the island on her way north. 

The sun rose, and daylight broadened into the 
morning. The wind fell rapidly, and the sea began 
to get that easy run of the Atlantic when undis- 
turbed. I loosened my lashings and stood up, gaz- 


WRECK OF THE ^^RATHBONE*^ 


97 


ing about us. The motion of the raft was still 
severe; but I could stand, balancing myself. I 
shivered and shook with the wet and cold; but I 
now felt that with the sun shining we would soon 
be in better straits. As the raft rose upon the 
swells I looked all around the horizon. But there 
was nothing; not a thing save the sea in sight. 

“You can’t see anything?” The girl’s voice 
sounded strange, querulous, and pitiful. She was 
sitting with her head bowed upon her hands, which 
rested on her knees. Her wet dress clung to her, 
and she looked very frail, very delicate. 

“No; I can’t see anything yet,” I answered; “but 
we’ll sight something before long. Tell me, were 
you from Bermuda?” 

“Yes; I was visiting my aunt there,” she said. 
“I just graduated from the convent of the Sacred 
Cross last month. I’ve never been anywhere, or 
seen anyone, until this year. My mother is the only 
other near relative I have living.” 

“Well, you’ve made a good start seeing things,” 
said I, trying to smile at her. She turned a little 
pink, just flushed a bit; but it gave her white face 
a more natural look. She was a very pretty girl. 

“How old are you ?” I asked. 

“Eighteen. Why?” 

“Oh, nothing, only ” 

I felt like a fool. Why should I bother this child 
about her age? She had saved my life by dragging 
me upon the raft, and I would save hers, if pos- 
sible. It produced a feeling in me I could not quite 
understand. I liked to hear her talk, to have her 


98 WRECK OF THE ^‘RATHBONE 


look at me. She was very pretty ; a good, innocent 
young girl. 

‘'I could eat a house, roof, and foundation,” I 
ventured finally, seating myself. The wash of the 
sea now hardly reached us, and we were drying out 
fast in the cool breeze and sunshine. 

“Yes; I could eat a ship, masts, and spars,” I 
went on. 

“Well, I suppose I’ll be tough enough,” she said, 
glancing at me with some show of fear in her eyes. 
“I once read of men on a raft who ate each other; 
but I never thought it would be my turn. No, 
never.” 

“Don’t be absurd,” I said. “I don’t intend to eat 
you — not yet.” 

She looked at me very hard. Her eyes were 
moist ; big, lustrous eyes. “No,” she said seriously, 
“I don’t believe you will,” and she put her hand in 
mine. 

“Aw, don’t be frightened, kid,” I said. “I may 
look like the devil, but I’m not.” 

And I sat there like an idiot holding that girl’s 
hand, while the sun rose and shone warmer and 
warmer upon us, drying our garments and cheering 
us wonderfully. I had never met a girl of this 
kind before; and it was something of a problem how 
I was to keep her alive and cheerful on that raft. I 
swore fiercely at Jake, at Jones, and the rest for 
leaving us adrift. My oaths were something strange 
to the girl, for she shivered and drew her hand 
away. 


WRECK OF THE ^^RATHBONE'^ 


99 


“Please don't/’ she said quietly. “What good 
does it do to use such language?” 

“Eases me a lot, miss. What’s your name ?” 

“Alice Trueman.” 

I mumbled the name a few times, then relapsed 
into silence. After that there was nothing more 
said for a long time; but I saw her looking at me 
at intervals. Evidently I was an animal she was 
not used to, and I wondered at a mother who would 
bring up a girl to view a man as such a terrible 
sort of creature. I was a rough sailor; but I was 
human. 

The day advanced and the wind fell to a gentle 
breath. Then it became quite still, a dead calm, 
while the swell rolled steadily in from the eastward, 
but smoothed out into long, easy hills and hollows, 
upon which the raft rode easily and the platform 
kept clear of the sea at last. 

We took turns standing up and looking about the 
surrounding waste to see if there were any signs 
of a ship. Nothing showed upon the horizon, and 
the day wore down to evening. We were both very 
hungry and thirsty. I knew that the limit would 
soon be reached if there were nothing to eat or 
drink. The sun was now warm, and we ceased shiv- 
ering as it settled in the west. The darkness of the 
night came on with its terrors, and still there was 
no sign of help from anywhere. 

“I really don’t think I can stand it any longer, 
captain,” said the girl. 

“I’m not the captain — just the mate,” I answered ; 
“but you’ll have to stick it out for the night.” 


100 WRECK OF THE ^^RATHBONE^^ 


Miss Alice gave a little sob. “rm so hungry and 
thirsty/’ she wailed. And added plaintively: ‘^I’ve 
never been hungry in my life before.” 

‘Trobably not,” I said, sitting close to her and 
taking her hand in mine again. She made no re- 
sistance, and I passed my arm about her. ‘'You 
must remember you’ve seen very little of the world 
yet. I’ve been hungry often — expect to be again be- 
fore I go.” 

“You see. I’ve had everything in the world I 
wanted. My father died very rich — and I can’t 
stand the things people can who are used to them,” 
she lamented. 

“Cheer up,” I said. “While there’s life there’s 
hope, you know.” 

She gave a little sigh, and let her head fall back 
Upon my shoulder. And so we sat there in the 
growing darkness, together upon a raft in the mid- 
dle of the Atlantic. As I look back upon it, there 
seems to be a bit of sentiment lacking. I felt noth- 
ing but pity for the girl at the time. I wasn’t the 
least unhappy. I wasn’t the least disturbed, except 
that hunger was gnawing at me and the fear the 
girl would die there. Personally I was not dis- 
pleased with the position. Such is youth. 

“Alice,” I said finally, “I find a lot of comfort in 
you being here with me, but I honestly believe I 
could stand it better if you were safe ashore. 
You’ve been a mighty brave little companion 
though.” 

She gave my hand a bit of a squeeze, and sighed 
like a tired child. Then she closed her eyes. 


WRECK OF THE ^‘RATHBONE^* 101 


I was aroused by a hail. 

‘‘Hey, there, aboard the raft!’' came a yell from 
the darkness. 

“Boat, ahoy!” I howled, in desperation, hardly 
believing my ears. 

“Stand by and catch the line,” came the yell 
again, and I jumped up and stared into the gloom. 

A dark spot showed close aboard. The sound of 
oars came over the water. A man’s voice hailed 
again, and I recognized Jones, my bow oarsman. 

“Mr. Garnett- Is it you?” he cried; and a 

line came hurtling across the platform, striking me 
in the face. I seized it, snatched a turn upon one 
of the slats of the platform. The boat came along- 
side, while they held her off with the oars and boat 
hook. 

“A girl — one of the passengers, hey?” asked 
Jones. “Climb aboard, sir, and we’ll take her in all 
safe enough.” 

Wilson and Jones sprang upon the platform, and 
helped me lift the girl to her feet. She opened her 
eyes at the motion, and gave a cry of joy. 

“I’m so glad !” she said, and fainted dead away, 
while we placed her in the stern of the whaleboat. 

“Water, in the name of Heaven !” I panted. “You 
cowards ! Why did you leave us ?” 

“Hunted for you, sir, all night,” said Jones, get- 
ting at the water breaker and measuring out a full 
quart. I held it to the lips of the girl, and she re- 
vived enough to drink part of it. I drank the rest, 
and drew another measure, drinking it off in a gulp. 

“Grub,” I said, without further ado; and, while 


102 WRECK OF THE ^‘RATHBONH^ 


they shoved clear of the raft, I took a share of the 
ship’s biscuit, eating ravenously. 

‘‘Sit up and chew a bit of bread,” I said to Miss 
Alice. 

She raised herself with an effort, and soon re- 
covered sufficiently to eat something. Then she 
nestled close to me, let her head fall again upon my 
shoulder, and went to sleep like a tired child. 

We were heading almost due west for the coast 
now, and could not be very far away from coast- 
wise traffic. I felt that the end would soon come, 
and that we would be picked up. 

Before midnight a light showed ahead. It was a 
steamer’s headlight, and I soon made out her green 
light, showing she was heading north, inside of us. 
We would pass very close. 

“Give way strong; give way together. Let’s get 
out of this,” I said; and the men set to the oars. 

The light grew brighter, the green still showing. 
Soon the black form of the ship’s hull showed 
through the gloom, her masthead light now looming 
high in the air, and her side light close aboard. We 
were drawing in, and I stood up and bawled out 
for help. The black bulk of her hull towered over 
us, and for an instant it seemed that she would 
run us down. 

“Hold — back water — hold hard!” I yelled, and 
the men obeyed. 

The ship tore past us, the foam of her bow wave 
splashing into the boat. I roared out curses upon 
the men above in her. Then she went on into the 
night. I howled, swore at her, called her skipper 


WRECK OF THE ^^RATHBONH^ lOS 


every name I could devise. The men seconded me, 
and together we called down enough curses upon 
that ship to have sunk her. Suddenly she seemed to 
slow up, to stop, and then lay dead in the gloom. 

‘'Row, you bullies, row for your lives !” I yelled ; 
and the men gave their last spurt, putting their re- 
maining strength into the pull. We drew closer, 
and a voice hailed us from the ship. 

“Ship ahoy!’' I called again. “Throw us a line 
and stand by to pick us up.” 

A^e came alongside. A line was dropped down, 
and Jones seized it, snatched a turn, and we were 
fast. The ship was wallowing slowly ahead; but 
we hung alongside safe enough. 

“Pass down a bowline," I sang out; “and be 
quick about it.” 

The line came down into the boat, and I slipped 
it over the head of Miss Alice Trueman, jamming it 
under her arms. 

“H’ist away on deck,” I directed; and the girl 
went aloft., The rest of us came one after the other. 

“I can’t take your boat, sir,” said the captain; 
“haven’t any room.” 

“Forget the boat. Give me something to eat and 
drink, and a place to lie down for a few weeks,” I 
said, and I was led below. 

Two days later we were at the dock in New York. 
I had not seen Alice since she had been turned over 
to the care of the stewardess ; but I waited for her 
to come on deck. She came, pale but self-possessed. 
She was still weak, but was now nearly recovered. 


104 WRECK OF THE ^‘RATHBONE^’ 


The ship was being warped to the pier, and it would 
be a few minutes before we could leave her. I came 
up and held out my hand. 

''Well,” I said, "Alice, how about it? You were 
a good companion in trouble, a brave shipmate in 
the face of terrible danger. Somehow it has drawn 
me to you. I want to see you again.” 

"Always, Mr. Garnett; always will I be glad to 
see you — but do you think it wise under the cir- 
cumstances? Don’t you think we had better say 
good-by now? It will only be more difficult later 
on. You know what I mean ” 

She looked up at me with moist eyes— eyes that 
told so much. I was taken all aback; but I under- 
stood. I was only a sailorman, a mate of a sailing 
ship. She was an heiress — a lady, as they say, edu- 
cated and refined. She couldn’t make me what she 
knew I would have to be to retain her respect and 
love, the love she would want to give. It was for 
my own good she was saying good-by. Yes, I be- 
lieve she meant it only for that. 

"Sure, girl, I was only fooling,” I said, with my 
throat choking so that the blamed ship reeled and 
swung about me. 

"Believe me, it’s best so,” she whispered, looking 
at me strangely with eyes now full of tears. She 
held out her hand, raised her head, put up her lips. 

"Kiss me good-by. You were awful good to me. 
Good-by.” 

I felt that kiss burn my lips for many a day — yes, 
for a long time. 


THE AFTER BULKHEAD 


A fter coming home from the East I had, 
like many other ship’s officers, taken up 
steam. There was more in it than the old 
wind-jammers, and the runs were short in com- 
parison. It was not long before I went in the Prince 
Line, as they needed navigators badly. 

I was chief mate of the liner, and it was my un- 
pleasant duty to do about everything. Old Man 
Hall, captain and R. N. R. man, did little beside 
working the ship’s position after we got to sea. 
Ashore, he left everything to Mr. Small and myself, 
as far as the ship was concerned, and if there were 
a piece of frayed line, a bit of paint chafed, we 
heard all about it within two hours after he came 
aboard. 

Small was second under me, while the third and 
fourth officers were hardly more than apprentices, 
both being for the first time in the ship and not more 
than twenty-one or two years of age. 

Captain Hall was nearly seventy, and somewhat 
decrepit, but he was an accurate navigator, and had 
kept his record clean, making one hundred runs 
across the Western Ocean without accident. 
Masters of merchantmen are good or bad, accord- 
105 


106 


THE AFTER BULKHEAD 


ing to their records, according to their reputations. 
Some said Hall had excellent luck. But, anyway, he 
was a good man, a fair-minded skipper, and he al- 
ways brought in his ship on schedule, which was 
saying a good deal, for the Prince Line steamers 
were not noted for keeping close to time — any old 
time was good enough for most of them until the 
Prince Gregory, of twenty thousand tons, came 
along and made the lubbers look up a bit. 

She was the largest ship of the fleet — which com- 
prised ten good steamers — and she was fitted with 
all the modern conveniences, from telephones to 
wireless, had a swimming pool, barber shop, gym- 
nasium, cafe, and elevators to the hurricane deck. 

With only four watch officers, and six cadets, 
who were about as useful as a false keel on a trunk, 
I had enough to do before clearing. 

The chief engineer was an American, for a won- 
der, and his six assistants, including donkey man, 
were Liverpool cockneys. They drove a swarm of 
fire rats and coal passers that would have made a 
seaman crazy in two days, but Smith took things 
easy below, and, although he had to push her to 
keep the new record, he let his assistants do the 
heavy work. That’s the reason he grew so fat — 
grew fat and even-tempered, while poor Small and 
myself sweated out our lives after the usual routine. 

We had forty men in the crew, and needed more, 
for we often had a thousand emigrants in the steer- 
age. Sometimes we carried bunches of those big 
chaps from the European forests, Lithuanians, 
strong, sturdy brutes, totally without sense. 


THE AFTER BULKHEAD 


107 


It was in December that we took over five hun- 
dred of them on board, and while I was polite as 
possible, I put Small wise to keep a lookout on the 
critters. They were miners, for the most part. Con- 
tract men, going to the mines in Pennsylvania. 

By some means a quantity of their baggage got 
below with that of the cabin passengers. We had 
a lot of cabin folks that voyage. There was a 
bunch of actors, men and women you hear at the 
opera, drummers galore, buyers who were coming 
home from the fall trading, several millionaires; 
and, among the society or upper-strata people, the 
ones without occupation to give them distinction, 
were the Lady Amadoun and her following. 

Lady Amadoun was American born, but French 
by adoption, or, rather, marriage, preferring in her 
youth the suave manners of older generations to the 
rougher ones of her own countrymen. Raoul, 
Vicomte Amadoun, her husband, had not turned out 
the soft and gentle creature he appeared before mar- 
riage. In fact, he had followed the usual time-worn 
game of demanding money at unusual crises, which, 
as you know, has a tendency to make intelligent 
women think twice before coming across with it. 
The Vicomtesse Amadoun, or countess, as they 
called her, was young ; in fact, looked hardly twenty- 
five — but, of course, a countess has maids to fix her 
up a bit ! 

You see, being first officer, and sitting at the head 
of my own table in the saloon, the countess came 
under my observation more than I intended. Old 
Hall had his own cronies, who sat with him, and 


108 


THE AFTER BULKHEAD 


Driggs, the steward, gave the most prominent pas- 
senger my right-hand seat — sort of compliment. 
Driggs was a good steward, and owed his place to 
my exertions in his behalf. 

It was about this confounded baggage that I had 
a chance to further acquaint myself with nobility, 
for the trunks of the countess — and she had about 
fifty, including those of her friends who came with 
her — got mixed with the stuff that the baggage- 
master had sent by mistake to the first-class bag- 
gage room — the unlovely dunnage of the human 
moles who were roosting low in the steerage, and 
paying two pounds sterling a head for the privilege. 

‘‘I would take it as a great favor if you would 
allow me to get into my baggage by to-morrow at 
the latest,” said the countess, beaming upon me from 
the adjacent seat at my table at dinner that day. 
‘‘You see, we’ve been all over Europe, and while 
traveling through Russia I picked up some very 
pretty furs, which will be nice to use on deck dur- 
ing this cool sea weather.” 

“Madam,” said I, “I shall be at your service right 
after eight bells to-morrow, when I leave the 
bridge.” So I warned the baggage man, below, to 
have the place cleaned out a mite, so that her lady- 
ship could go below without getting her frock 
spoiled from contact with the steerage passengers or 
their belongings. 

To be sure that he would do my bidding — he be- 
longed to the purser’s force — I went below that 
morning, and looked the baggage over myself. I 
passed in through the steerage, and noted the men 


THE AFTER BULKHEAD 


109 


stowed there. Two big brutes of Lithuanians sat 
upon their dunnage, and jabbered in their language. 

‘‘Hike !” I said abruptly to the pair. “Git away 
from the baggage, and let the trunk slingers 
dig up.’^ 

“Oh, Mister Mate, Mister Chief, we have our 
trunks here, also, and want to get to them,” an- 
swered one fellow in fairly good lingo. 

“Beat it!” I ordered. . “Make a get-away as 
quick as you can. Only first-class passengers can 
take their baggage out, or get a look-in. Why, you 
lubber, if every one of you steerage rats wanted to 
get into your trunks, it would take about fifteen hun- 
dred stewards and baggage men to take care of 
you.” 

“But it is of great importance that we see our 
things — there are some things in my trunk I must 
get at, some important things ” 

“Try and fergit them until next Wednesday, when 
they can be dumped on Ellis Island; nuff sed — no 
more lingo — beat it !” 

The pair went away in very ugly humor, and I 
started the work of clearing that baggage room of 
their dunnage, and trying to select the trunks of the 
countess from the raffle. I managed to get about 
twenty of them, and let it go at that. 

The next day I took the countess below, and per- 
sonally showed her over the trunks. She was ac- 
companied by the count and her maid. 

“Now, Marie, which trunk was it in, ma cheref 
You must remember it very well,” she said, looking 
at the mass of baggage. 


110 


THE AFTER BULKHEAD 


''Mais oni, it must be that grand affaire — that 
beeg one — see!” And the maid pointed to an im- 
mense Saratoga trunk, big enough to hold the 
clothes of a full man-o’-war’s crew. 

The baggage master and I pulled the trunk out of 
the ruck, and the count produced a bunch of keys. 

I sauntered over to the other side of the room, 
where the gratings separated the steerage from the 
rest. The two fellows I saw there yesterday were 
watching through the slats, and did not notice me. 

‘^Deux cent'' said one, in a whisper. 

‘Whew, mon Dieu ” 

I knew that there was something about two hun- 
dred, but just what I couldn’t quite log. My lingo 
goes mostly to Spanish and Chink, having sailed to 
those countries. 

The countess asked me to move the big trunk to 
the side of the ship. I did so without seeing the 
reason for the extra work, but the lady was gra- 
cious, and there was really no reason for not doing 
it. Two other trunks were opened, and the furs 
brought out. Then the lady went on deck again, 
after thanking me most profusely. Raoul was more 
reticent. He was not the tongue-lashing French- 
man he looked. He seemed preoccupied; but all 
very rich and powerful men seem that way to me, 
and after all I was but the chief officer. Perhaps 
the skipper would have drawn him out more. 

Nothing happened until we were within sight of 
the Nantucket Shoals lightship. That night the 
countess and her husband were on deck, and, the 
air being cool, they were well wrapped in furs. I 


THE AFTER BULKHEAD 


111 


watched them from the bridge. They kept well for- 
ward, near the starboard forward lifeboat. That 
was my boat under the drill orders, and I remem- 
bered it afterward. 

It was about two bells — nine o’clock in the eve- 
ning — when there was a most terrific roar from be- 
low. The ship shook as though torn asunder. As 
I gazed aft, the deck seemed to rise and blow out- 
board. Something struck me heavily, and I was 
down and out for a few minutes. When I arose 
with ringing ears, I looked aft again, hardly realiz- 
ing that I was awake and not dreaming. The siren 
was roaring full blast, and a throng of men and 
women were rushing forward toward the bridge. 
Old Hall came out of his room half dressed, and 
ran to me. 

‘‘What is it — what’s happened?” he yelled in my 
ear. 

“Don’t know,” I howled, and even then I didn’t 
believe I was awake. 

The chief engineer ran up. 

“Starboard engine room full, sir — something 
blowed up below — whole side gone above water 
line — won’t float ten minutes,” he howled. 

“For God’s sake, shut off that siren, then!” yelled 
old man Hall. Then, turning to me, he ordered; 
“Stand by the boats, and get the passengers out.” 

In a few minutes the roar of the steam stopped. 
Hall stood calmly upon the bridge, and gave the 
orders for the small boats, and away they went one 
after the other. The wireless was sending its call 


112 


THE AFTER BULKHEAD 


for help, but there was no time for us to listen to 
replies ; we had plenty to do. 

The Prince Gregory settled slowly by the stern, 
and raised her bows high in the air. There she 
stopped, and, for a wonder, did not fall from under 
us. 

“Get into the boat, quick I said to the countess, 
and she sprang with amazing ease into the stern, 
followed by her husband and the maid. 

“Nix on the men!” I yelled, and grabbed the 
count. “Come out — women first,” and I dragged 
him from the boat with no show of deference. He 
struck me savagely in the face, and I stretched him 
out with the boat’s tiller. Seamen tossed him aside, 
and the swarm of women crowded up and into the 
craft while I held the men back as best I could. 

I knew it was to be a close haul. Seven hundred 
men and women, and only twenty boats ! The life 
rafts would be doing duty pretty soon, and no mis- 
take. 

I saw very little of the fracas around me, as one 
never does see much if he is tending to his own 
business, and mine at that time was getting forty- 
five women into a small boat, many of them in be- 
fore she was lowered away. 

Luckily there was no sea running at all. It was 
calm and foggy, the water like black oil. 

I slid down the falls, and when we loaded up I 
took command at the tiller, and went out a little dis- 
tance to clear the wreck in case of trouble. We lay 
at rest a hundred fathoms distant, and watched the 
scuffle aboard. Men yelled like mad, screamed, and 


THE AFTER BULKHEAD 


113 


fought. I caught the flash of a gun, and heard the 
report. I knew Hall would not stand for lawless 
rushing the boats, and was doing some fierce work. 
Pretty soon the outcry died away more and more, 
and still the black hull showed plainly, her bow still 
pointing skyward, and her stern submerged. 

''God’s blessing, there’s no wind or sea!” I said 
to Driscoll, my stroke oarsman. 

"You’re right there, cap,” said he. "What wus 
ut anyway?” 

"Blessed if I knew — she’s just blowed up, whole 
stern gone out of her. She can’t float two hours, 
and there’ll be no one out here before daybreak if 
they do get the signal.” 

'‘You brute!” exclaimed the countess, who was 
sitting close to me. "Why didn’t you let my hus- 
band come in this boat ?” 

"If he was a man, he wouldn’t have wanted to,” 
I snapped, hot at the insult. 

"I notice you are here, all right, you ruffian!” she 
retorted, sneering. "What do you call yourself?” 

I thought best not to answer her. Words with 
women are generally wasted, and the woman always 
gets the last one, anyhow. The countess had al- 
ways been so courteous and gentle that I supposed 
the excitement had turned her head ; and then, after 
all, I had treated her husband a bit rough. He was 
a gentleman, and I was only a mate. That made 
a difference in her point of view, although I can’t 
say it did so much in my own. 

I talked to Driscoll, and watched the Prince Greg- 
ory as she lay there in the oily sea. Boats came 


114 


THE AFTER BULKHEAD 


and went toward the light vessel, and, thinking it 
would be a good thing to get rid of my cargo, I 
trailed off after the bunch, and was soon alongside 
the lightship. 

As fast as we could, we sent the women aboard, 
finding that the little ship would hold hundreds of 
passengers, in spite of her diminutive size. Inside 
of half an hour, she had fully five hundred people 
in her, and was jammed to the rails, below and on 
deck. Still, it was better than an open boat, and I 
kept bringing them by scores, until there were no 
more, save a few boatloads, and these we kept afloat 
in the lifeboats. 

During this time I thought little, or not at all, 
about the count. The ship still hung by her after 
bulkhead, and Lord knows the man who set it in her 
deserves praise enough. How it stood that strain 
is a wonder to this day. If there had been any sea 
running she would have gone down like a stone, for 
no unbraced cross-section of a ship can stand the 
•surge of ten thousand tons in a seaway. It must 
have burst like blotting paper when wetted down. 
With ten men — all second-class passengers — in my 
boat besides the crew, I went back to the ship for 
the last time, and watched old man Hall as he stood 
upon the bridge. I could just make him out through 
the hazy gloom of the night, but I could hear his 
voice distinctly, as he gave orders to the few men 
who stayed with him. 

“Do you want any more help, sir?'’ I asked, com- 
ing alongside. 

“What’s that — you. Jack?” he answered. “No, I 


THE AFTER BULKHEAD 


115 


reckon not. She’ll hang on for hours, if the wea- 
ther remains calm like this. All the passengers 
safe?” 

‘‘All aboard the lightship, or hanging to her by 
painters — there’s a line of boats half a mile long 
trailing on behind her, and they’re safe enough, as 
they can’t get lost as long as they hold to her. Tide 
runs hard here on the edge of the Stream, but her 
wireless is going right along, and she says two cut- 
ters left Boston half an hour ago, under full steam 
— ought to be here before late in the morning, any- 
way. Never lost a man, hey?” 

“No,” says he, “not that I know of; and that’s 
some remarkable, too.” 

I thought it was, also, but said nothing more for 
a few moments, watching the half-sunken hull 
slowly rolling from side to side in the smooth swell. 

While I watched I saw the form of a man coming 
from aft, along the rail of the main deck, which 
was just awash. As every one had left the after 
part of the ship and the engine room abandoned, I 
thought this strange, and watched the figure until it 
came almost amidships. Then it disappeared in the 
cabin. 

“More men aft, sir?” I asked Hall, who still 
stood leaning upon the bridge rail, waiting for help. 

“No, on one left aboard — just Jenkins and his 
crew of four men — myself, that’s all.” Jenkins was 
carpenter. 

“Saw a man coming from aft, sir — must be some 
passenger overlooked. Shall I jump up, and see to 
him?” 


116 


THE AFTER BULKHEAD 


“All right,” came the response, and almost before 
he spoke the men who waited on their oars shoved 
the boat astern until she was almost level with the 
sunken deck. I sprang out of her, and sung to 
them to lie by and keep clear of the captain's boat, 
which lay alongside, just forward of us, waiting 
until the old man found it necessary to leave. 

I made my way in through the pasageway to the 
saloon, and found the deck still clear of water, al- 
though the sucking roar and surge of the sea be- 
neath told of the immense volume in the lower 
decks. The lights had long gone out, with the 
drowning of the dynamos, and I felt for a cabin 
door, intending to grab one of the emergency can- 
dles which are always in place on the bulkheads. 

I found one, and struck a light; then made my 
way along the passage in front of the lower state- 
rooms, calling at intervals for any one who might 
be near and unable to realize the peril of a founder- 
ing ship. I admit it was some ticklish. I had my 
hair raised more than once when the ship took a 
more than usually heavy roll, and the rushing thun- 
ders below started with renewed force. What if 
she should drop? It was a bad thought, and not 
tending to still my pulse. I couldn’t help thinking 
of the thousand fathoms or so of blue sea beneath 
my feet 

I thought I heard a footstep crossing the passage 
in front of me. It is strange how, above the gen- 
eral thunder of rushing water, a slight sound makes 
itself evident. It was like standing upon the shore 
during the running of a heavy surf. One can al- 


THE AFTER BULKHEAD 


117 


most talk in a whisper while the thunder reverbe- 
rates along the coast. 

A shadow crossed in front of me, and I hailed 
again. It was a man^ and he was coming from be- 
low, from the sunken lower decks. He came up the 
staircase of the lower saloon, and darted along the 
passageway to port. 

“Hey, there ! Stop !” I yelled. 

The man turned, and in an instant I recognized 
him. It was the Vicomte Raoul. 

He eyed me with a savage look, and waited for 
me to come up. 

“What ees it you want ?” he growled. 

“Just you!” I told him. “Don’t you know you 
are in danger of getting killed down here?” 

“And how does that matter interest you?” he re- 
torted, with those shrugging shoulders and arched 
eyebrows he could handle so well. 

“It don’t, except that, as I’m an officer, it’s my 
duty to see you leave the ship under orders of the 
captain.” 

“I noticed you were not so queek to have me 
leave dees sheep when I first started,” he sneered, 
“and eef I go back for my jewels, my valuables, eet 
ees no affaire of yours — eh ?” 

“It is only to the extent that I must see you off 
the vessel,” I said. 

We were standing near the after companionway, 
and I noticed the splintered planking, where the 
force of the explosion had blown it upward. It was 
directly over the baggage room, where the trunks 


118 


THE AFTER BULKHEAD 


were stowed below. This was now under six to 
ten feet of clear water. 

‘Tf you want to get into your trunks, you will 
have to be a good diver,” I said. ‘‘There’s no 
chance in the world of getting below here — she’s 
flooded full to the after bulkheads number four in 
the wake of the starboard engines. You couldn’t 
do a thing below if you got there.” 

In a more courteous tone, the count explained : 

“Eet is a matter of small valuables in my room, 
not my trunk. Go along like a good fellow, and I 
will follow instantly. I just go below to my room 
— I come with you instantly — go !” 

“Well, ril wait here if it don’t take too long,” I 
said. “It’s against orders, and if anything happens 
to you I’ll get it, all right. Hurry up, and beat it 
back — the boat’s waiting, and the ship’ll drop any 
minute. It’s only that number four bulkhead hold- 
ing her.” 

‘Ah, yes, dat number four! Eet ees just at my 
stateroom door, zat number four you call heem. 
Wait, my good fellow, I come immediate,” and he 
went down the companionway, which was knee-deep 
at the bottom in sea water. 

He splashed through the shallow wash, and disap- 
peared along the gloomy passage, where the candle- 
light failed. I stood above and waited, holding my 
breath at times, and cursing the luck that made me 
weak enough to allow him to do such a foolish 
thing as go below for valuables. However, I had 
treated him pretty rough at the first getaway, and 
felt he had a right to some consideration. 


THE AFTER BULKHEAD 


119 


Suddenly I remembered that his stateroom was 
not below on that main deck! It seemed to me he 
had rooms forward -and above; but the excitement 
had caused me to forget this detail, and I was so 
taken up, even at the time, that I only remembered 
it in a half-dazed way. What did he want below, 
then? 

I waited, and the minutes flew by, seeming long 
enough. The candle ran its hot grease down upon 
my hand, and burned it. I was getting sore and 
impatient at the wait. If anything happened, I 
could never be given a reprimand, for I would never 
show up to receive it. The ship would go down and 
take me with her, all right enough. I hadn’t a 
chance in the world — and I was waiting there for a 
count, a man who had sprung into the mate’s boat 
to get clear, when there were hundreds of women 
waiting and screaming to go 1 

There was a sharp explosion from below. The 
ship shook a little, and rolled to port. 

‘‘Just Heaven! Did that bulkhead go?” 

A form tore down the passageway, splashed 
through the water at the foot of the companion, 
and was upon me in an instant. Raoul struck me 
fairly between the eyes, and I went down to sleep — 
that was all I remember of the inside of the Prince 
Gregory, as she lay foundering off the Shoals. 

When I came to, I was in the boat, with Driscoll 
bending over me and pouring sea water upon my 
head. The dark stain showed me that I was bleed- 
ing fast, and the sailor tore off the sleeve of his 
jumper, and tied it about my forehead. I tried to 


120 


THE AFTER BULKHEAD 


sit up, but everything swam and rolled about me 
horribly. Finally I managed to get my head up. 

“What’s happened?” I asked. 

“Bulkhead gave way, sir,” he told me. “You 
was hit on the head by wreckage. I run in after 
you, an’ jest managed to git you clear. She’s gone, 
sir!” 

“What! The ship?” I cried. 

“Sure, sir.” 

“And the old man — ^Jenkins, and the rest of 
them ?” 

“All got clear just in time — seems like Jenkins 
and his gang were at the bulkhead from forrards, 
trying to shore it up, when hing! she went, and 
them as was left beat it — all got clear, sir.” 

“See anything of a passenger — that chap we had 
a run-in with at the first getaway?” I asked. 

“Yes, sir; one man got away in the skipper’s 
boat — that’s them headin’ for the lightship over 
there,” and he pointed to a blur that showed through 
the hazy night. I began to gather my senses again, 
but I couldn’t make head or tail of it. What did 
that fellow nail me for? I had hit him, to be sure; 
but that was for a purpose. He surely intended to 
fix me, all right. About a minute more, and I would 
have gone with the ship. 

“Cowardly rat !” I whispered. 

“Who?” asked Driscoll. 

“That white-livered dog who knocked me out,” I 
said, gritting my teeth at the thought. 

“Better lie quiet, sir; better keep still — you’re 


THE AFTER BULKHEAD 


121 


bug a bit, but will be all right to-morrow. Does it 
hurt you much, sir?” 

“Shut up !” I commanded ungratefully, and Dris- 
coll gazed at me sorrowfully, pulling away again 
at his oar, for we were now almost to the lightship. 

All that night we lay trailing astern. There was 
a long line of lifeboats reaching nearly half a mile 
back, all hanging to the taffrail of the ship. 

About daylight she got in touch with a passing 
passenger ship, bound in, and while we were busy 
shifting the hundreds of passengers the cutters 
showed up, and helped to expedite matters by tow- 
ing the small boats. Before breakfast time we had 
all the outfit aboard and away for New York. Hall 
and myself went aboard the cutter Eagle. We 
waited for several hours, to see if there were any- 
thing more to find drifting about, and then away 
we went for home, thanking the captain of the Nan- 
tucket Shoals lightship for what he had done. 

“I don’t understand it at all — don’t seem to be 
just right,” repeated Hall over and over to the cap- 
tain of the cutter. “She just blew up — that’s all 
there is to it. We had a drove of miners aboard, 
and you know how hard it is to keep those fellows 
from carrying explosives in their dunnage. You 
simply can’t stop to search them. There was prob- 
ably a couple of hundred pounds of blasting pow- 
der, at the least — went off like a mine blowing up a 
battleship. That bulkhead in the wake of the star- 
board engine room saved us — that’s all !” 

I was out of a ship. When we got in, the man- 
ager laid me off for a month, and then gave me the 


122 


THE AFTER BULKHEAD 


second greaser’s berth on the old Prince Leander, 
a bum ship — and that’s a fact. When I reached the 
other side again, I saw by the papers that a certain 
Frenchman had tried to collect nearly a million 
francs on his insurance for cargo and personal be- 
longings in the Prince Gregory. It seems that he 
had shipped tons of expensive machinery and had 
insured it fully. The stuff was cased tightly, but 
one case marked for him had broken while being 
handled on the dock, and nothing but bricks fell 
out. 

The insurance companies held up the claim. I 
hurried to the consul’s office, and told of the episode 
of the trunk, and how I was hit over the nut by a 
certain French gentleman during the fracas. The 
description answered to the man of machinery,, and 
when I told of that last little crack I had heard be- 
low, the consul waited not on the order of his go- 
ing, but ordered a cab and fairly threw me into it. 
We tore to the office of the underwriters, and I told 
my tale. Then I began to see the light, at last. 

It was the old game tried under a new guise — and 
it had nearly cost the lives of a half thousand hu- 
man beings. The horror of it appalled me, and I 
found myself wondering if I were to be trusted 
about without a nurse again. However, I was not 
censured severely. The crook was well known to the 
police, and since then the police of many countries 
have been trying to locate a gentleman who answers 
to the description of the Vicomte Raoul de Ama- 
doun. 


CAPTAIN JUNARD 


C APTAIN JUNARD awoke suddenly from a 
sound sleep. He listened intently for a few 
moments. The steady vibrations of the 
ship's engines told of the unchecked motion, the un- 
hindered rush of the ship through the sea. Yet 
something had awakened him, something had given 
him ^ start from a dreamless sleep, the sleep of a 
tired man. He knew that something was wrong, 
felt it, and wondered at it, while his heart began 
to sound the alarm by its increasing pulsations. He 
wondered if he were sick, had eaten something that 
might produce nightmare ; but he felt very well, and 
knew he never started at trifles. His hand reached 
for the revolver at the head of his bunk. He always 
kept it there for emergencies. It was a heavy forty- 
five, with a long, blue barrel — a strong weapon that 
had stood him handily in several affairs aboard the 
steamer. The light in his room was dim, but there 
was enough of it to show him that his room was 
empty. His hand reached the spot where the wea- 
pon usually hung, but failed to reach it. He groped 
softly for several moments. There was nothing 
upon the bulkhead ; the gun was gone. 

This fact made a peculiar impression upon him. 
He felt now that his instinct was correct, that he 
123 


CAPTAIN JUNARD 


IM 

was indeed in danger. His mind cleared quickly 
from the stupor of sound sleep, and he remembered. 
He was carrying papers of peculiar importance in 
his strong box, or safe — papers relating to a deal 
in shipping connected with a revolution in a Central 
American state. A rival line had tried to stop the 
affair, which grew into political importance when 
secret agents of the United States tried to find out 
how deeply it might affect the Panama Canal. The 
concession had not been granted. The Canal Zone 
was not yet in existence, and the United States was 
sure to get it if this deal went through. The presi- 
dent had watched the affair with hungry eyes. Now 
the papers were in his — Junard’s — possession, 
aboard his ship, bound for the state department in 
Washington. 

Junard started up when he found his hand miss- 
ing the butt of that revolver. It had been a pleas- 
ant fancy to him when he remembered its solid grip 
and deadly accuracy, a dependable friend in the 
hours of darkness and distress. Now it was gone, 
and could not have gone without some one having 
taken it. If they took it, they took it to keep him 
from using it. The idea of its loss awakened him 
more than anything else, and sent his heart beating 
fast as with sudden quickness and energy he sprang 
from his bed. There was nothing in his room, 
nothing at all. The lamp burned low. The electrics 
had been switched off, as they gave too much light 
for him to sleep in. Junard stood wondering, study- 
ing, and gazing at his safe, which lay bolted to the 
deck in a corner of his room. 


CAPTAIN JUNARD 


125 


The captain^s room was just abaft the pilot house, 
as is usual in ships of that class. A stairway, or 
companion, of five steps led to the pilot house, but 
these were cut flush with his room and into the floor 
of the house above, so that he could shut the door. 
The door was shut now as he looked, but the sound 
of the steering gear told him that the man at the 
wheel, within a dozen feet of him, was steering and 
attending apparently to his business. The room ran 
clear across the superstructure, opening with a door 
upon either side. To starboard was his bathroom, 
to port was a closet, which adjoined the room of the 
chief officer, being separated from it by the bulk- 
head. Both these rooms led aft and opened into 
his room by doors in the bulkhead. This made his 
room a complete section of the superstructure about 
twelve feet deep and running clear through. There 
was nothing in it that could hide any one. A table, 
a couch with leather cushions, several chairs, and a 
large desk completed the furniture. His bed was a 
large double bunk let in to port and hung with cur- 
tains. It somewhat resembled an old four-poster 
bed. 

Junard walked quickly to the safe. It was locked. 
He smiled at himself. The absurdity of the thing 
almost made him laugh. And yet he was as nervous 
as a ship’s cat when watching a strange dog. He 
opened the door leading to the pilot house. The 
man in there was standing in regulation pose, with 
his hands upon the spokes of the steam steering 
gear. The sudden rattle and clank told Junard the 
fellow was awake and alert. The dim light from 


126 


CAPTAIN JUNARD 


the binnacle made his outline plainly discernible, and 
Junard recognized him as Swan, a quartermaster of 
long service and excellent ability. 

‘‘How’s she heading, Swan?” whispered the cap- 
tain. 

“No’the, two east, sir,” said the man, with a 
slight start. The words had come to him from the 
gloom behind him, and he had not heard the door 
open. 

“That’s right; they haven’t reported the Cape 
yet?” 

“No, sir ; but that’s Cape Maysi, sir, I think,” said 
Swan, pointing to a light that had just begun to 
show right over the port bow. Eight bells struck 
off upon the clock in the house as he spoke, and the 
cry came from forward. The chief mate, who was 
on watch, came to the pilot-house window, reached 
in, and took out the night glasses. He adjusted 
them and gazed at Cape Maysi. Captain Junard 
watched him narrowly, and noted that he took the 
bearings and made the remark in his order book. 
Mr. Jameson was a good officer and a first-class 
navigator, and Junard did not wish to appear on 
deck until he was called. It looked as if he did not 
trust the officer sufficiently. He would wait until 
the light was reported officially. 

When Junard turned to reenter his room, he 
heard a slight noise. There was a rustle, a whirl, 
and the door of the room to port clicked to. It had 
been shut when he jumped from his bunk. He 
gazed in the direction of the safe, and saw that it 
was now standing wide open, the door swinging 


CAPTAIN JUNARD 


in 


slowly with the motion of the ship. He sprang to 
the switch and turned on the light, full power. 

In front of him was the safe, with the door open. 
In front of the safe lay a huge knife, and alongside 
of the knife lay his revolver, fully loaded, and 
cocked. Whoever had it was ready to use it upon a 
moment’s notice. The intruder had fled at the 
sound of Junard’s steps upon the pilot-house com- 
panion. 

Junard was a very heavy-set man. He stood but 
five feet two inches, but was at least three feet 
across the shoulders, an immense man for his 
height, his chest being as broad and hairy as a gor- 
illa’s. His powerful legs were set wide apart to 
steady himself to the ship’s motion, and for a brief 
instant he stood there in the full light, clothed in 
his pajamas. Then, with a roar like that of a bull, 
he plunged headlong for the lattice door of his 
room, and, bursting it with a crash, reached the 
deck in full stride. He just caught sight of what 
appeared to be a skirt, switching around the corner 
of the deck house, and he leaped savagely for it. 
He reached the corner, swung around it — and saw 
no one. Down the alleyway he ran, swung about, 
and came out to port upon the deck. There was not 
a soul to be seen, and he hesitated an instant which 
way to run. Then he ran aft with prodigious speed, 
and, within a couple of seconds, reached the cabin 
companionway. The light burned at the head of the 
broad stairs, but not a soul was in sight. He dashed 
inside silently, being barefooted, and, peering over 
the baluster, he saw the steward on watch peacefully 


128 


CAPTAIN JUNARD 


snoring away in a chair near the water-cooler at the 
foot of the stairway. 

“Sam !” he called sharply. 

The man awoke with a start. 

“Aye, aye, sir!’^ he said^ looking about him, rec- 
ognizing the captain's voice, but not seeing him at 
once. 

“Has any one come down this way within the last 
few minutes?” asked Junard. 

“No, sir, not a soul, sir.” 

“Sure?” 

“Sure, sir. I’ve only been dozing but a minute. 
I’d have seen ’em, sir.” 

Junard slipped away quietly, leaving the under- 
steward wondering what he wanted. With amazing 
swiftness, the master rushed back to his room. He 
reached it, and went inside the broken door. The 
light was still burning, but the safe was now closed. 
He tried the combination lock, and found it had 
been locked. The gun and knife had also disap- 
peared. The room was in perfect order, the light 
burning full power, and there was not a thing to 
show that there had been an entry made. The 
bursted door was the only sign of any irregularity. 
He stood gazing at the safe for a few minutes. The 
thing was almost uncanny. He began to wonder 
if he had not had a nightmare, dreamed the whole 
thing. He turned the combination of the safe, and 
opened the door again. The contents of the safe 
were apparently intact. He reached for the inner 
drawer, where the important papers had been kept. 
They were gone. 


CAPTAIN JUNARD 


129 


It was not nightmare, after all. The thing was 
real. The papers had been taken from the safe, and 
they were worth perhaps a million to the finder, if 
not much more; that is, if they could be gotten out 
of the ship and into the hands of those who were 
antagonistic to the deal. He pondered a few min- 
utes more, and then decided to go on deck and stand 
the next watch upon the bridge, remaining there, 
with the excuse that the cape was drawing abreast 
and he would take his departure from it. He de- 
cided not to say anything to either officer. The 
thing had best be kept secret, for the very existence 
of the papers might imperil his company, if that ex- 
istence were known to certain parties. He hastily 
dressed and went on the bridge. 

Mr. Dunn, the second officer, was now on watch, 
and it was about a quarter of an hour past mid- 
night. The cape was drawing up, and was fast ap- 
proaching the port beam. The ship was running 
about sixteen knots through a smooth sea, with a 
stiff northeast trade blowing almost dead ahead. 

Junard came to where the second officer stood. 
Mr. Dunn turned and spoke to him, remarking upon 
the blackness of the night and the clearness of the 
Cape Maysi light. 

Captain Junard said nothing, but watched the sec- 
ond officer narrowly, and tried to fathom his de- 
meanor, looking for some sign that might show a 
knowledge of what had transpired aboard within 
the past few minutes. Dunn had been upon the 
bridge when that safe was shut, when the revolver 
had been taken away. Yet Dunn had been in the 


130 


CAPTAIN JUNARD 


employ of the company for ten years, and was a 
reliable man, a sailor who had always done his duty 
without murmur. He had a fine record. 

The light drew abeam, and the ship ran close to 
the low, rocky point where it juts out into the sea. 
The high mountains a few miles back showed dimly 
in the gloom, making a huge shadow in the back- 
ground. As the light is upon the north side of the 
low promontory and shows across to the southward, 
the land was very near as the ship steamed past it 
and laid her head for the passage. 

Junard gazed hard at the shore. He was think- 
ing. Would any one try to get into communication 
with Cuba here at the cape ? There was a question. 
If a small boat lay near, with lights out, she might 
get close to the ship without being observed, for it 
was quite dark, and the loom of the land made it 
darker than usual. It was nearly six hours’ run to 
the next light, in the Bahamas, across the channel, 
and the Inagua Bank was too far to the eastward 
to invite shelter for a small boat. It would be either 
at the cape, or near Castle Rock, or Fortune Island, 
he believed, that an attempt might be made to get 
into communication with the ship. This he must 
stop. No one must get in communication with the 
land before daylight. Then he would search every 
passenger thoroughly, go through all rooms, and 
take a chance at the result. At Castle Rock he 
would be on watch^ if nothing occurred here. 

He gazed steadily into the blackness ahead. The 
stiff trade wind blew the tops of the seas white. 
They broke in whitecaps, which showed now and 


CAPTAIN JUNARD 


131 


then through the gloom of the night. He strained 
his eyes, but nothing showed ahead. The glass 
showed a dull, dark sea; there was nothing in the 
line of vision within three miles — that is, nothing as 
large as a whaleboat. He was sure of this. There 
might be something under the dark loom of the 
land, but the glass failed to show anything. 

‘'You take a four-point bearing upon the light, 
Mr. Dunn, and get the distance accurate,” said 
Junard. “The mate took his bearing before he left 
the deck, but you can take another — we are about 
abreast now — she’s doing exactly sixteen.” 

Knowing that this would take the second officer 
until the light bore four points abaft the beam, 
Junard left the bridge and went aft without notice. 
He slipped down to the main deck, and went along 
the gangway until he reached the taffrail. The 
whirl of the wheel shook the ship mightily here, the 
long, steel arm of the tiller under the gratings shook 
and vibrated with the pulsations. The chains drawn 
taut clanked and rattled in the guides and sounded 
above the low murmur of the shaking fabric. Ju- 
nard gazed over the stern and watched the thrust of 
the screw as it tore the sea white and whirled a 
giant stream astern that showed sickly white with 
the phosphorescent glow. 

When he turned again, he was aware of some one 
watching him. A head had appeared and vanished 
from behind the end of the cabin structure. The 
captain sprang for it with a bound. He turned the 
corner in time to see a skirt disappearing into the 
alleyway leading into the saloon. He was upon it 


132 


CAPTAIN JUNARD 


with a catlike rush. He reached the saloon door 
just as it closed in his face. 

Without hesitating an instant, he plunged against 
it, and it gave way to his great weight and power. 
He burst with a crash into the saloon. 

The under steward who was on watch aft saw an 
apparition of a man in uniform coming through the 
door like a bull. He had opened his eyes in time to 
recognize the captain, who ran right across the 
cabin and out upon the deck beyond. 

Junard was swift. He made a reach for the fig- 
ure as it flitted into a room which opened upon the 
deck nearly amidships. His iron grip closed upon 
the skirt, which stretched out in the wind behind 
the fleeing figure. Then something struck him full 
in the face, took his breath, and blinded him. He 
clung to the cloth, choking, coughing, and blinded ; 
made a grab with his free hand to clutch the person 
— but his grip closed upon empty air. 

When he got the ammonia out of his eyes, which 
were almost blinded by the scorching fluid, he hur- 
ried to his room and bathed his head copiously in 
cold water until he regained his sight. 

‘'Well, it’s a woman, all right,” he commented. 
“We’ll have her all right in the morning; she won’t 
get a show to-night to get away with anything. I 
guess I’ve got her measure.” 

In a few minutes he sent for the purser. 

That individual came to the captain’s room with 
fear and trembling. He had been playing draw 
poker, and breaking the rules of the ship, regardless 


CAPTAIN JUNARD 


133 


of discipline, and expected, of course, to get a 
rating. 

“Give me the passenger list,” said Junard. 

It was produced. They ran over it, looking for 
the location of all the women under thirty or there- 
abouts in the ship. Junard said nothing of his ad- 
venture, and the purser was amazed at his appear- 
ance. 

“Had a bad night, captain ?” he asked. 

“Yes, rather. There’s a case of cholera aboard — 
among the women — I don’t know which one, but 
we’ll have a chance to find out to-morrow. Don’t 
speak of it to any one, mind you; don’t let it out 
under any conditions — you understand ?” 

“Sure not,” said the purser, paling a little under 
the news. “How did you come to find it out, 
sir?” 

“Never mind that now. Just keep an eye on all 
the women in this ship, and don’t let any of them 
get to throwing things overboard, or trying to do 
anything foolish. Watch them, and tell me of any- 
thing that might happen.” 

The purser, amazed, went back to his game of 
poker with certain passengers; but before doing so, 
he instructed several of his force to watch both 
gangways for the rest of the night. He did not 
know what the “old man” expected, but supposed 
that cholera patients attempted to throw things 
overboard, or tried suicide. The thought of the 
dread disease aboard made him forgetful of the 
game, and he lost heavily before morning. 


134 


CAPTAIN JUNARD 


Junard, still smarting from the ammonia thrown 
in his face, came again upon the bridge. He had 
saved his eyes by a fraction, for the fluid had struck 
him right in the nose and mouth, and only the spray 
of it had gotten into his face higher up. It had 
been squirted by a fluid ‘^gun” of the kind com- 
monly used by bicyclists for repelling angry dogs. 
Part of the skirt had remained in his grip, but the 
person had slipped away in an instant and disap- 
peared. It angered him to think a woman could do 
such a thing. And yet, if it were a woman watching 
him, there was sure to be more than a woman con- 
nected with it. No woman, he reasoned, could have 
tried his safe. No woman would have taken his 
revolver and carried it, along with a deadly knife. 
There must have been a well-organized party to the 
affair, and they had watched him, after taking the 
papers, to see just what he would do. Of course, 
he knew they would not toss such a valuable docu- 
ment overboard in the night time without a boat be- 
ing close at hand to pick it up. The ocean is a hard 
place to find anything at night. He knew now that 
they were aware of his watchfulness and would not 
attempt to get rid of the papers except under the 
most favorable conditions. To throw them over- 
board attached to anything small enough not to at- 
tract attention would be to invite sure loss. He 
reasoned this out as he stood out the rest of Mr. 
Dunn’s watch, and at eight bells — four o’clock in 
the morning — the mate came again on the bridge 
without anything happening to excite him. 


CAPTAIN JUNARD 


1S5 


‘^Fve been on deck for a short time, Mr. Jame- 
son,” said Junard; “but I’m going to turn in for a 
little while. Call me when we get well up to Castle 
Rock — we’ll raise it before morning, before day- 
light with the weather clear like this.” 

“Aye, aye, sir; I will, sir — she’s doing fine now,” 
said Jameson, as he signed the order book for his 
course during his watch. 

At two bells — five o’clock — the mate called the 
captain by going to his port door and knocking. He 
was amazed at the sight of a young woman who 
came forth from the room and whisked herself 
quickly down the deck and out of sight. Such a 
thing as a woman in the master’s room at that hour 
was enough to excite Mr. Jameson. He had not 
been on the ship long, and the captain was new to 
him. Masters naturally had love affairs as well as 
sailors, but they were generally careful about being 
caught. Here Junard had asked him to call him 
when they sighted Castle Rock, and, as he knew 
they must do this by five, at least, the mate was 
puzzled to see a woman leaving the captain’s room 
when he knocked. Why hadn’t she left sooner? It 
was a joke he would be bound to retail to the rest 
sooner or later, and he smiled at the thought. He 
tried to get a glimpse of her face, but failed. Then 
he waited a decent length of time, and knocked 
again, louder, announcing the light ahead on the 
starboard bow. 

Junard came on deck instantly. He had been 
dressed and dozing. 


136 


CAPTAIN JUNARD 


The gray light of the morning, which was now 
beginning to show things a little, enabled Junard to 
note the smile upon the face of his chief mate. 

'‘Anything funny doing?” he asked. 

'‘No, sir; but I seen her — I couldn’t help it.” 

'‘Seen who?” 

'‘I beg your pardon, sir; but she was just going 
out when I came to call you when I raised the light 
— your orders, sir, you know. I wouldn’t ” 

“Out with it ! Whom did you see ?” snapped the 
captain sharply, and his tone told plainly that he 
was in no mood for a joke. The mate sobered at 
once. 

“There was a lady leaving your room as I came 
to knock — that’s all, sir,” he said sullenly. The 
captain had a poor appreciation of humor, he 
thought. 

“What kind of looking woman was she ?” 

“Medium-sized, very well built — I might say 
stocky, sir — dressed in a dark cloth dress ; she didn’t 
have on a hat.” This last was with almost a sneer. 
It brought Junard around with a jerk. 

“I don’t wish to seem foolish, Mr. Jameson, but 
you appear to presume too much. I might insinuate 
gently that you are a damn fool — but I won’t, not 
until you tell me what is amusing you, and what you 
saw. I will say there was no woman in my room. 
If there was, I’d not be troubled to confess it.” 

“That’s all I seen, sir,” said Jameson sourly. 

“Which way did she go?” 

“She went aft,” said the mate, wondering at the 
captain trying to hide the obvious. It irked him to 


CAPTAIN JUNARD 


137 


think his master a fool “She went aft, and that’s 
all I seen/’ 

“Mr. Jameson, there’s a few things you don’t 
know,” said Junard. “When we get abreast of 
Castle Rock, I want you to go aft and watch both 
sides of the ship carefully, you understand ? I want 
you to see that not a thing is thrown overboard — 
not a single thing — and if there is anything showing 
in the wake, come to me at once — or, better still, 
ring off the engines and mark it to pick up. This is 
very important. I can’t tell you right now just how 
important it is, but I will say your berth depends 
upon it. Do not let anything leave the ship without 
notice — not a thing.” 

“Aye, aye, sir,” said Jameson; and he went aft 
amazed at the outcome of his deductions. He won- 
dered what was up. Some affair of the captain’s, 
he was sure. But the severity of the master’s tone, 
the earnestness of the captain’s manner, disturbed 
him greatly. There was something peculiar about 
it that made him^ forced him, to give his attention 
to it. And there was the threat of his own berth, 
his position, being in forfeit. He did not like that 
kind of talk from a captain. It savored of undue 
severity. He took his station aft of the superstruc- 
ture with some misgivings. In the gray light of 
dawn, he watched both gangways, first one side and 
then the other, keeping well back of the house. 

Castle Rock light drew well upon the bow. It 
was now within a mile, and Junard noticed a small 
fishing boat riding in the fairway just ahead of the 
ship. As the water was very deep here, he knew 


138 


CAPTAIN JUNARD 


she was not anchored, but must be waiting and 
under way; yet no sail showed upon her. Perhaps 
a powerful motor lay within her. He watched her 
carefully, and walked from side to side of the 
bridge, waiting for some sign from those aboard. 
The wake was now showing white in the gray of 
morning, and a small object could soon be distin- 
guished in the smooth sea to leeward of the light- 
house, where the heavy swell of the Atlantic was 
cut off. 

Jameson, who stood at the taffrail, saw a figure 
of a man peer from the window of a stateroom 
nearly amidships. The head was quickly with- 
drawn. The mate watched, and then walked quickly 
across the stern and watched the wake, wondering 
what might be taking place. The form of a woman 
flitted down the gangway from forward, showing 
dimly in the gloom. She came from the opposite 
side of the ship from where he had seen the head 
peer forth. Hiding behind the house, he watched 
her come quickly aft. She was carrying something 
in her hand that looked like a life buoy. Instinc- 
tively the mate made ready to catch her. He saw 
that life belt, and to his imagination it spelled some- 
thing like a person going overboard. The form of 
a man came quickly behind her, and Jameson recog- 
nized one of the under stewards, who had been 
watching for trouble at the purser’s orders. 

The woman ran at the sound of footsteps behind 
her. She came with amazing swiftness to the taff- 
rail, near where Jameson stood. He gathered him- 


CAPTAIN JUNARD 


139 


self, and sprang forth, clasping her in his arms just 
as she hurled the life belt over the side into the sea. 

The girl screamed shrilly, struggled frantically in 
the embrace of the officer. Jameson wondered what 
he was about — began to think he had captured a 
lunatic — when the rush of feet above caused him to 
loosen his grip. He turned in time to see Captain 
Junard take a header from the rail of the deck 
above and plunge headlong into the sea where it 
boiled and swirled from the thrust of the screw. 

Jameson was paralyzed for an instant. He dis- 
tinctly saw his commander go overboard. It gave 
him a shock. He let go the girl and stood motion- 
less for a second. Then, as the head of Junard 
arose in the white waste astern and struck out for 
an object, the life belt the girl had thrown over, he 
gathered his wits again, and dashed for the quarter 
bell pull, or telegraph, to the engine room. 

Full speed astern he threw it, and the astonished 
engineer on watch nearly fainted under the sudden 
warning. Thinking that a collision was at hand, he 
shut down and reversed under full power, opening 
the throttle wide, and giving her every ounce of 
steam in her boilers as she took the strain. The 
sudden take-up, the tremendous vibrations, and the 
slowing speed awoke many passengers. Not a 
sound of action had gone forth save the screams 
of the girl, and these were now silent as she had 
quickly flitted out of sight when the mate released 
her. Jameson rushed to the bridge and called his 
watch as he ran. Then he set the siren cord down 


140 


CAPTAIN JUNARD 


hard, and the unearthly roar awoke the quiet tropi- 
cal morning. Men rushed about. The watch hur- 
ried aft. 

“Stop her!” yelled Jameson to the quartermaster. 
“Stop her — don't go astern I” 

“Stop her, sir!” came the answering cry from the 
wheel. Jameson rushed to the rail again, and cut 
loose a life buoy from its lashings. He ran aft with 
it, intending to throw it out to his captain. Junard, 
however, was but a speck, far astern, his head show- 
ing like a black dot in the white water of the wake. 
The mate noticed for the first time that the small 
fishing boat ahead was now standing down toward 
the ship under rapid headway, the exhaust from her 
motor sounding loud and sharp over the sea. 

“Get the quarter boat down — quick!” came his 
order. 

Then he hesitated a moment. The small fishing 
boat was nearing them with rapidity. She headed 
straight for Junard, and would reach him long be- 
fore any rowboat from the ship could get there. 

“Hold on! Avast the boat there!” he ordered. 
“That motor boat will pick him up, all right.” Then 
the thought that he was not quite right in not lower- 
ing down a boat for his commander, that it might 
look queer, waiting for a stranger to do his evident 
duty, came over him, and he gave the order to lower 
away. The small boat dropped into the sea. The 
steamer was now motionless, lying in the calm sea 
behind the rock, with her engines stopped. Men 
crowded the rail aft to watch. 

“What’s the matter? What made him jump over- 


CAPTAIN JUNARD 


141 


board ?” came the question from all sides. ‘‘It’s the 
captain! What’s up?” 

Jameson could not quite tell. He was vaguely 
aware that his commander sprang over for some ob- 
ject. That he took a desperate chance, with the 
ship going ahead, was certain. Had he not been 
seen, the vessel would have been miles away before 
missing him, for there had been no warning from 
the bridge. The mate slid down the falls, wonder- 
ing what he was doing. 

“Cast off — give way, port ; back, starboard !” 
came his order. He stood up, to see better, and 
gazed at the fishing boat, that now approached the 
speck he knew to be the head of Captain Junard. 

“Give way together!” he said, glad to get away 
from the ship, with the inquisitive crowd gathering 
rapidly and increasing in both anxiety and numbers. 

He watched the motor boat come quickly. to where 
Junard swam. The captain was not a good swim- 
mer. Few seamen can swim well. Jameson saw 
the boat approach, men lean out from her side, and 
grab something, apparently trying to lift the captain 
aboard. Then there was a tremendous floundering 
and threshing about in the sea, distant shouts for 
help from the captain, and the mate grasped the 
tiller yoke with a certain grip. 

“Give way, bullies ! Give way — all that’s in you 
now !” he urged. 

Something was taking place that he did not quite 
understand, but he had heard that call for help. 

Junard saw the fishing boat coming toward him 
before it reached him. He waited, swimming 


CAPTAIN JUNARD 


142 

slowly and reserving his strength, feeling that the 
occupants were hostile and were waiting for the 
papers that had been tossed overboard. It was 
about where he expected something to happen. The 
lighthouse and the shelter of the island made it a 
most convenient spot to pull off the finish of the 
affair. The light-draft fishing boat^ with her motor, 
could easily evade capture from anything the ship 
could send out after her. The steamer herself could 
not enter the shoal water, and must allow the 
smaller boat to get away across the shallow parts of 
the Great Panama Bank to some distant rendezvous, 
where the papers could be put aboard a proper ship 
to take them to the conspirators. He, the com- 
mander, had no right to leave the ship in the man- 
ner he had done; but necessity called for drastic 
action, and he had plunged over the side as soon as 
he had seen the girl fling an object overboard. 

Three men in the fishing boat were watching him 
as she drew up. His own boat was a long distance 
off, but he hoped the mate would hurry. 

A man came forward in the motor boat, and 
leaned out from her side. He watched him nar- 
rowly. The man made a grab for Junard as the 
boat reached him, and the captain, with a sudden 
jerk, dragged him overboard. Then he yelled for 
help. 

The man’s two companions in the boat sprang to 
his aid. Junard found himself engaged in a des- 
perate struggle with three men, and shoved himself 
away from the side of the craft. 

He held fast to the package, a metal cylinder. 


CAPTAIN JUNARD 


143 


tightly wrapped in canvas, and at the same time 
struggled out of reach of the men above him. The 
man he had pulled overboard regained his strength, 
and, grasping the life belt with one hand, grabbed 
at the package with the other. The package tied to 
the life belt could not be gotten out of his reach, 
and Junard was struggling with one hand and fight- 
ing and grasping alternately at the life belt with the 
other. 

‘‘Give it up, you scoundrel!” hissed the fellow. 
^‘What do you know about this package? Give it 
to me — do you hear ?” 

“I hear well enough,” snarled Junard, struggling 
farther out of the reach of those in the motor boat. 
“But I’m the captain of that ship there — and the 
papers are in my care. Let go, or I’ll do you 
harm!” 

The man glared at him savagely. Then he turned 
to the men above him in the boat, now a dozen feet 
away. 

“Shoot, Jim — shoot quick — kill the fool if he 
won’t let go !” he said. 

The man addressed was a tall, dark fellow with 
a sinister look. That he was Colombian, Junard 
knew from his accent and appearance. The other, 
who had stopped the engine, and who seemed to be 
the engineer, looked askance. He evidently did not 
like the shooting part. This man was also a Colom- 
bian, but his features were those of a man who 
works outdoors at a simple trade. The other two 
looked like desperate men, and Junard felt that they 
would stop at nothing to get the papers from him. 


144 


CAPTAIN JUNARD 


The man who was called Jim hesitated, and then, 
seeing the small boat approaching from the steamer, 
reached behind his back and brought forth a long, 
blue revolver. Junard waited until the barrel came 
within a line with his eye; then he ducked, and 
swung the life belt around, coming up with it in 
front of him, and raising it partly before his face. 
The pistol cracked sharply, and the bullet tore 
through the cork. Junard let go the package, and 
seized the man in the water with both hands, whirl- 
ing him about and holding him squarely in front of 
himself. 

“Start that engine!” called the man, struggling 
vainly to get away. 

The man who had stopped it whirled the wheel 
over again, and the rumble of the motor began. 
The two waited, without throwing on the clutch. 

Junard grasped the man firmly, and forced him 
down under the sea, going under with him, and 
holding his breath to the limit of his great lungs. 

When he came up again the man was choking, 
gasping for air. Junard only waited long enough 
to fill his own lungs with a breath, and then ducked 
again, the crack of the revolver ringing in his ears 
as he went, pulling his antagonist down with him. 

The next time he came up the fellow could not 
talk, but choked and gasped for air. Junard held 
him with a giant’s grip, his long, powerful arms 
encircling him like those of a gorilla. The fellow 
let go the life belt and the package. Junard took 
in more air, and dropped down again, while a bullet 
tore through his hair, cutting his scalp. 


CAPTAIN JUXARD 


145 


This time when he came up the fellow was limp. 
Junard held him before him, and the man with the 
pistol was afraid to fire, as the captain’s eyes just 
showed above the man’s neck. The captain strug- 
gled farther and farther away from the boat, get- 
ting fully twenty feet distant. The man at the en- 
gine threw on the clutch, and the boat shot ahead, 
swung sharply around, and headed for the floating 
men. 

Junard saw the mate standing up in the stern of 
the ship’s boat, and knew he was doing all he could 
to reach him. The shots had made him aware of 
the desperate situation, and the men were bending 
their backs with a will to the oars. Jameson yelled 
harshly, the men in the motor craft saw that to re- 
main longer would mean capture. They swung off 
and headed for the steamer, leaving their compan- 
ion in Junard’s grip. The next moment the mate 
came tearing up, and, leaning over, grasped his 
commander and hauled him aboard the boat. 

Junard came over the side, and immediately 
reached for a boat hook. He stabbed at the cork 
jacket, and hauled it alongside^ dragging it aboard 
before the boat lost her headway. The body of the 
exhausted man sank before either he or Jameson 
could get another hold of him. 

''To the ship — quick!’' gasped the captain. 

"What’s the matter ? What’s up ?” questioned the 
mate. 

"Never mind — swing her, quick I” 

The boat turned around and headed back, the 
captain urging the men to their utmost. The fish- 


146 


CAPTAIN JUNARD 


ing boat, with her motor going full speed, left them 
far behind. They were unable to get near the craft. 

Junard, watching them, saw the boat come close 
under the ship’s stern. A form of a woman leaped 
from the rail of the lower deck. The splash threw 
spray almost into the boat as she went past, and 
they saw the tall Colombian reach over and drag the 
girl aboard. The boat shot around the steamer’s 
stern and disappeared for a few moments ; and when 
Junard saw her again she was a quarter of a mile 
distant, and making rapid headway for the shoal 
water of the island. He started after her, when the 
shots from the revolver began to strike about the 
craft, and Junard ordered his men to stop rowing. 
He knew he could not capture her, unarmed as he 
was, and he had his precious papers safe in his 
mighty hands. To follow was only to invite 
trouble. 

The fishing boat ran quickly out of range, and 
Junard watched her for a few minutes. Then he 
headed his boat back to the ship. 

The rail was crowded as he came alongside, the 
purser watching him, and half the passengers were 
on deck to see what was taking place. 

“What was it? What’s the matter?” asked a 
score at once. 

“Man overboard — that’s all,” said Jameson. 

“H’ist her up,” said Junard, and he clambered up 
the swinging ladder thrown over to him, taking the 
life belt and the package under his arm. 

Mr. Dunn was on deck, and Junard gave him his 
orders. 


CAPTAIN JUNARD 


147 


“Full speed ahead — on her course, north to 
west,” he said, and went into his room. The door 
closed behind him. Then he switched off the lights, 
for it was now broad daylight, and then he opened 
the package. The papers were all there and intact, 
the water not reaching them at all. The safe was 
opened, and they were placed within. Then Junard 
stripped and turned in for a few hours of dreamless, 
quiet sleep. 

He had saved the papers of his company, docu- 
ments that were valued at more than a million dol- 
lars — and not a soul aboard knew what had really 
happened. Even Jameson was never quite sure. 

The purser asked no questions about cholera, the 
ship headed along upon her course toward New 
York, and the warm day took its routine without 
further incident. Junard appeared very happy, 
and told many interesting stories at the dinner table 
that day. He answered no questions concerning the 
affair of the night. 

He brought in his papers, delivered them in per- 
son, and a great political change took place without 
any one but a few select souls ever knowing how 
near the verge of revolution a prominent South 
American republic had been. Junard was offered 
a medal for risking his life trying to save that of a 
man overboard — but he refused it. The shots from 
the fishing boat were explained as signals for help. 
That was all. 


IN THE WAKE OF THE ENGINE 


I HAD been transferred to the old Prince Al- 
bert, one of the freighters on the Jamaica 
run, and the skipper was Bill Boldwin— Bold- 
win who was once in the Amper Line, but who 
had a monstrous thirst and a reckless disposition — 
entirely too reckless for first-class passengers. The 
^‘old man,” as all captains are called, having these 
filings, had also a mighty poor education, and 
his navigation was mostly, “Let her go and trust 
to the sun.” 

“Compasses?” said Bill. “How’d they get along 
before they had ’em, hey? Steer the course, or 
thereabouts ; you’ll git thar or somewheres nigh to 
it — if you don’t fetch up.” 

“But the company?” I said in amazement. 

“The company be blowed! Take life easy — it’s 
short. Don’t let the company worry you to any 
great extent. They’ll give you a job as night 
watchman at twenty per month after they get out 
of you all there is in you.” 

At the same time Bill, who was my “old man,” 
and who, by the way, was ten years younger than 
myself, would not stand for any too much care- 
lessness on the part of his first officer. I was his 
148 


IN THE WAKE OF THE ENGINE 149 


chief mate. He knew what I had to do, and hated 
to tell me. I confess I seldom gave him a chance. 
The second greaser was a little, short squarehead 
named Andersen; at least we called him that, go- 
ing on the principle that it was a sure thing that 
if he was a squarehead he was either named An- 
dersen or Johnson. There are no other names in 
Sweden, and a man naturally just has to be one 
or the other. They’re good enough. 

Andersen knew his business and was an able 
seaman, learning his little book in the old sailing 
ships where they teach you something not always 
taught in steam. He had the bos’n in with him, 
and what the bos’n didn’t know about handling 
the steam winches would be hard to tell. But that’s, 
all the bos’n knew. Not a thing else. If he had 
he wouldn’t have rammed greasy rags in behind 
the ceiling of the after deck house in a hurry to 
get his grub at knock-off time. 

No, that was the failing of the bos’n; he lacked 
knowledge, and was as good a navigator as you 
might find in a young lady’s finishing school. He 
had paws on him like a loggerhead’s flippers, 
nearly a foot across, and each finger was a marline 
spike, and every thread of his hair, where he wasn’t 
clean bald, was a rope yarn. He knew sailoring — 
nothing else. 

He was about as much afraid of anything in this 
world or the next as a hungry shark is of beef; in 
fact, he seemed to take to trouble with about the 
same sort of appetite. In six months I never had 
a chance to tell him anything except the routine. 


150 IN THE WAKE OF THE ENGINE 


The chief engineer was McDougal, and the sec- 
ond was Mac something — all of our engine-room 
force went under the same name of Mac, just 
plain ‘"Mac” and if they were not Scotchmen, I 
never saw one in my life. Scotchmen are born 
engine men, take to a machine like a dago does to 
a knife. The rest of the fireroom bunch were 
the old-style Liverpool Irishmen, and I’ll tell you 
something, they were hard ones all right. They 
were the toughest lot of coal tossers I ever sailed 
with, and even the donkey man, O’Hare, was a 
peach of a Donegal Irishman with Galways of red- 
dish hue that stuck out from under his shirt collar, 
pointing upward as if they were growing some 
husky on his throat. 

That was the principal part of our crew. There 
were some twenty others, including the cooks, gal- 
ley boys, seamen, and quartermasters. 

We cleared for Antonio, and were soon running 
out over the Western Ocean in the lazy, tiresome 
routine of ship’s duty. We were licensed to carry 
passengers and had a few waiters aboard, a stew- 
ard, and a lady of about thirty signed on as stew- 
ardess. 

As there were no passengers this voyage out — ■ 
no one ever went out with us if he could help it, 
but came back when there were no other ships — the 
cabin crowd had an easy time, regular yachting 
trip; and if Miss Lucy Docking had a stupid tim^, 
it was because she wouldn’t talk to the rest. 

‘'Stuck-up and sassy,” they said aft, but I never 
could tell, never getting a chance to talk with her 


IN THE WAKE OF THE ENGINE 151 


without a dozen or more listening. At the same 
time I didn’t like to blame the girl just because she 
didn’t like the set of lovers the ship furnished free 
of charge. “Let her pick her own,” said I, “it’s like 
enough she’ll make a mistake, anyways, without 
your help.” I never had a big opinion of women, 
anyhow, for the only one I ever proposed marriage 
to fell down and nearly died laughing at me, and 
that after I had been dreaming of her and thinking 
her the greatest angel in the world. 

Miss Lucy was all right with me, because I let 
her alone, except in the mid-watch, when I was 
cold and thirsty. Then she used to get me a cup 
of cocoa or chocolate or coffee, and I tell you the 
man who stands the mid-watch on the old freighters 
is earning all he gets, whether it comes by way of 
the stewardess or by way of the front office. 

We crossed the Western Ocean in the usual man- 
ner. I had my order book to sign, and I saw that 
the second greaser didn’t get gay with it. Days 
and days of the old routine passed, and we were 
in the edge of the trade when the first thing hap- 
pened to show what a wild lot of yaps we had in 
that ship. 

The bos’n stuffed his oiled rags in behind the 
ceiling of the after house, and it was about three 
days afterward we struck the hot weather. The 
rags promptly caught fire — they always do when 
snugged in from the air — and we hove the old 
hooker to in the teeth of the trade with the after 
deck a roaring furnace. If you think we didn’t 
have a time of it putting that deck house out. 


152 IN THE WAKE OF THE ENGINE 


throwing it overboard in pieces, you should look up 
Lloyd’s. Well, the way I talked to that bos’n 
would have given heart disease to most men, but 
the beggar didn’t see it at all. 

“Rags is rags,” he says, “and what for don’t I 
put them behaind something?” 

“Because if you do it again we’ll toss you over- 
board with twenty pound of kentledge to your 
feet,” I told him, and it was the only reason he 
could get through his bullet head. It didn’t scare 
him at all. He only looked upon the matter as 
closed, for he would not mutiny. He was too 
good a sailor for any foolishness. 

“Rags is rags,” he would repeat as we chopped 
the blackened wreck away the day after, when all 
hands had been near the port of missing ships and 
were tired and nervous, having been on duty for 
fifty hours without a break. “Rags is rags, an’ 
some son of a sea-cook set fire to ’em — no rags I 
ever seen ever took fire of themselves. Does a 
ship run herself, hey? Answer me that! Does a 
ship run her own engines, steer her own course, 
what? Some one of you sons of Ham did that 
dirty trick and I’ll get you for it yet !” 

“But rags do fire themselves, even if a ship 
don’t,” said the old man, “and you are the leading 
bonehead not to know it. You don’t rate a brass 
boy in anything but a coal barge, and if you don’t 
look out I’ll have to train you some.” 

“Rags is 

Only the size and look of the bos’n’s hands pre- 
vented the old man from committing murder right 


IN THE WAKE OF THE ENGINE 153 


there. But the bos’n took it out on the men. What 
he didn’t do to them that voyage was never logged. 

Miss Docking stood the test well. She stayed on 
deck and watched the fracas and never turned a 
hair, so to speak, waiting for the word to take to 
the boats with as cool a nerve as anything I ever 
saw. She was billeted for my boat. Number One, 
and I confess I was somewhat disappointed when 
the blamed deck house burned to the steel and the 
danger of leaving the ship was past. 

Boldwin was always taking it easy, and he never 
even took that real hard, although it would cost 
him something to explain how he did the damage 
when the underwriters asked him. 

‘^Don’t do it again,” was all he said to me. 

‘‘No, not until we get another deck house at 
least,” I said. “Maybe I can see that they don’t 
set fire to the anchor or burn up the windlass, or 
eat the coir hawser, or ” 

“Well, see that you don’t. That’s your business 
— ^you’re mate,” he snapped back, and started for 
the chart house. 

Andersen came to me. “I tank I sign de order 
book for sou’west half sou’ — -here we bane running 
eastb’no’th. How I tell de truth wid sech a t’ing — 
hey?” said he. 

“If you always tell the truth in this line of pack- 
ets you’ll soon get a job hoeing potatoes in Essex! 
What’s the matter with you? Do you want the 
company to get wise that we fought a fire set in 
with oiled rags by a fool of a bos’n and had to run 
the ship fifty miles off her course? Who’ll pay for 


154 IN THE WAKE OF THE ENGINE 


the coal? Who’ll square the old man? Who’ll tell 
the passengers that we don’t always have a bone- 
head bos’n to wreck us, and that if they’ll promise 
to come again we’ll see that it don’t happen often — 
no, not often?” 

Andersen went on duty with a queer look in his 
eyes. He had seen something and it amazed him 
— just why I never could tell, for he had been in 
steamers before and ought to have known some- 
thing of a ship’s officers’ duties before coming into 
the Prince Line. 

The truth in many lines is sacred. Absolutely 
sacred. Too sacred entirely to shift about the deck 
like a bag of dunnage and leave lying around for 
some fools to play with. No, never play with the 
truth in some lines of shipping. Do your duty. 
That’s all you’ve got to do, and if it’s so logged, 
why, then you’re all right. If it isn’t, why, then 
you better get to driving a truck or peddling pea- 
nuts. 

Well, Boldwin was a pretty good sort, as I have 
said. He mostly saw that all of us did our duty 
— in the log book, in the order book, and with the 
company officers. We went along slowly on our 
course after that, and were in the latitude of Wat- 
lings when bad weather came on. It was nothing 
much, just a cyclone of the usual order, coming 
as it did in the hurricane season; but we were a 
full-powered ship of six thousand tons, and it 
wouldn’t have delayed us to any extent — except 
that we didn’t count on the donkey man from 
Donegal. 


IN THE WAKE OF THE ENGINE 155 


You see, the Albert had one of those under- 
Iwater ash-chutes. The pipe came down through 
jthe bilge, about fifteen feet below the water line. 
|It was a foot in diameter, and was supposedly 
bolted to the skin and as solid as the keel or gar- 
boards. 

The metal of the pipe was half an inch in thick- 
ness, and was braced and bolted so that the top 
which showed above the water line could be hove 
on and shut off in a seaway. The top had a sliding 
cover working with a lever, and when the ashes 
were to be fired out the cover was thrown back, the 
bucket dumped, and a jet of steam blew the mass 
out through the ship’s bottom, making no dirt or 
dust at all, and doing away with the everlasting 
firing over the side. 

It was a good invention. It saved the company 
many dollars in paint, and it kept the ship, which 
was always short-handed, looking better than most 
vessels that used the old way over the side. 

It would have lasted forever if the man from 
Donegal hadn’t been of an inquisitive turn of mind, 
and started exploring it with a monkey wrench 
the week before the storm. As it happened he 
broke several of the bolts which had rusted in the 
bottom, and the metal, having been much worn and 
corroded, the first thing Mac knew was a torrent 
of sea water pouring into the after compartment, 
coming as it did through a pipe hole about a foot 
in diameter and fifteen feet below the sea level. 

It caught the firemen unawares. The donkey 
man was with them and let out a yip that brought 


156 IN THE WAKE OF THE ENGINE 


every coal passer, oiler, and fireman to the chute. 
A wild burst of water tore through that hole, and 
the compartment was flooded in less time than it 
takes to tell about it — and that compartment ran 
the whole length of the engine room and aft of it 
until it brought up in the wake of the machinery, 
where the bulkhead of the tail-shaft room shut off 
the stern. 

The donkey man managed to get out with the 
rest, and the fires in starboard boilers swamped, 
nearly blowing up the ship as the water flooded 
them. It was only because there was enough water 
to prevent the making of steam to any great ex- 
tent that saved us from having the whole mid- 
section blown in the air. 

And all the time I was holding to the bridge rail 
with a cyclone snoring down upon us at the rate 
of seventy miles an hour. Luckily the ash pipe 
stayed partly bolted to the skin of the bottom. 
That alone saved us from total loss. 

Of course I knew something was wrong the min- 
ute the boilers went smothered. The terrific roar 
of steam and the easing of the engines told me 
that sure enough trouble was coming, and all the 
time I had been wondering how we would hold the 
hooker up to that gale with the full power in her. 

“What’s the matter — ^bottom blow away?’’ 
howled Bold win, coming from the pilot house and 
yelling in my ear. 

“God knows — anything might happen to us after 
last week,” I howled in return, but the force of the 
hurricane blew the words away, and the old man 


IN THE WAKE OF THE ENGINE 157 


went staggering- and pulling himself along the rail 
until he managed to get below. For the next fif- 
teen minutes on that bridge I did some small bit 
of thinking. Looked like all day with us. Not a 
sign could I get from anywhere, and of course I 
dared not leave the bridge. Once I thought she 
had blown up with powder. Next I thought the 
engines had gone through the bottom. And all 
the time I could feel her settling in that whirlwind 
sea — a sea torn white with the blast of the squalls 
that were now coming faster and faster each 
minute. / 

‘'Well, I’m mighty glad I’m not married, any- 
way,” I said to myself, for it looked like the long 
sleep coming fast. And then I somehow thought 
of that Miss Docking below there in the comfort- 
able cabin waiting for the finish. It gave me a bit 
of a turn, and I tried to imagine what that cabin 
would look like in a few minutes when the sea 
water swept through it with all its transoms and 
cushions, piano and carpet 

“Hard a starboard, sir,” came the cry. 

It was most welcome. Anything but that stand- 
ing there waiting for the next minute to follow the 
last. I saw that the quartermaster swung the wheel 
over quickly. It was steam steering, and the ship 
fell off in the trough of the sea in a few minutes, 
the weight of the gale driving her bodily to lee- 
ward and heeling her over to quite a list. 

“Heave her to,” came the order passed up from 
the old man, and I put the wheel hard down and 
waited to see if she would stay without coming up. 


158 IN THE WAKE OF THE ENGINE 


She lay easily drifting off, and while I watched 
her for trouble the old man sent for me. Andersen 
came up and took my place, and I ran down, half 
blown, half crawling to the shelter of the deck 
house, and from there below to see what had hap- 
pened. 

Bill Boldwin was standing at the ash chute 
swearing at the man from Donegal. The donkey 
man was trying to tell what he didn’t know about 
his business, and all the time the water flowed freely 
through the one-foot pipe until it so filled the com- 
partment that nothing more could come up through 
it. , It was a good thing ! If the whole Atlantic 
Ocean had been delegated to flow through that 
pipe, nobody was there to stop it, not a soul to say 
why not. And then I was aware of the stewardess 
standing in the press of faces, looking scared but 
cool. 

‘'Why don’t you ram something in it?” she 
asked. 

Simple? Sure it was simple. No one had tried 
to do such a thing, but there she was asking why. 

“The pipe’ll break away — you can’t shove any- 
thing down it,” said Boldwin. 

“No? But why don’t you shove something from 
the outside?” said Miss Docking. 

“Go to your room,” snarled the old man. 

“She’s right — we’ll stop it in a jiffy — from the 
outside,” I yelled. 

The skipper thought I was crazy. He looked at 
me. 


IN THE WAKE OF THE ENGINE 159 


‘‘How’ll you get anything over the outside in this 
seaway, you bonehead?” he asked. 

“Get me the hand lead,” I yelled to the bos’n, 
“and a stick of light wood — ^big piece, big enough 
to float a man.’" 

The bos’n ran for the stuff. That was one good 
point in that bos’n. He’d do what he was told 
even when he hadn’t the slightest idea what he 
was doing. He came back in a few minutes with 
a long piece of white pine and the hand lead. I 
looked them over for a moment to judge the weight 
and floating power of the tools. Then I quickly 
hitched the lead to the piece of pine and left the 
bight of the line so that as soon as I jerked it 
hard the lead would free itself and go hell bent for 
Davy Jones, leaving the Pine line fast to the lead 
line to float up and away. 

To the end of the chute I now quickly made my 
way. The Donegal man wanted to help, and faith ! 
he was a good man when it came to doing things 
he understood; He showed me where the upper 
end of that chute was in that roaring surge of filthy 
water, and the beggar actually got a hold of the 
lever that worked the cover and jammed it open. 

I instantly dropped the lead, the wood, and the 
line through, and had the satisfaction of feeling the 
line going fast to the bottom out through the hole 
in the bilge. When the line had gone about ten 
fathoms I gave the sudden jerk. Off comes the 
lead and the line stops running out. 

“Get to windward and grab that plank,” I yelled, 
and even the old man followed the bunch that strug- 


160 IN THE WAKE OF THE ENGINE 


gled to the rail and watched the sea where we 
drifted bodily off. In a minute the bos’n saw it. 
In five more he had the plank back aboard and a 
three-inch line fast to the lead line. This I hauled 
quickly but cautiously back through the ash pipe 
until I got a good hold of the end. 

‘‘Now/' I yelled, “give me mattresses, beds, can- 
vas, fearnaught, or oakum — anything so long as 
you get it here quick." 

The stewardess had already anticipated my work. 
I caught her eye back of the line of men. 

“Here they are," she said quietly. 

The bos’n got a Number Double O hatch cover. 
I wrapped the mattresses in it, and then quickly 
hitched the three-inch line carefully about the 
middle. 

“Over the side with it," I shouted. Over it went, 
and as it did so I got the line hauling through the 
pipe. Two men helped me. We hauled the plug 
jam up tight against the ship's bilge, and then 
surged upon the line and made it fast. 

“Now go ahead and pump her clear, Mac, pump 
her out — she's tight as a drum," I said, and the old 
man looked at me with a peculiar smile. 

An hour later that compartment was clear of 
water, and she leaked only a little around the stuff- 
ing, which was not enough to wet a man’s feet. 
Another day and the starboard boilers were doing 
duty with a smoothing sea and a sun peeping out 
through the banks of trade clouds. The storm had 
long passed ; the Prince Albert was on her way un- 
der full power, with nothing at all to disturb the 


IN THE WAKE OF THE ENGINE 161 


serenity of the passage, save the knowledge that 
we had a masterly crew aboard and some excellent 
r specimens for manning passenger ships. 

Down the Western Ocean we ran without 
f further incident, and hove to off the entrance of 
Antonio, burning flares for the pilot. You know 
the place. Narrow cut in through the reef, with 
the harbor lying like a pool of blue water in the 
surrounding hills. Not a breath of air in the place 
even when, half a mile distant, just outside, the 
trade might be blowing a twenty-knot breeze. 

The pilot came out at daybreak, and we ran in, 
tied up to the wharf, and began discharging. My 
duties were ended for the time, as I thought, and I 
took a stroll up to the hotel upon the hill. There 
was no use trying to get any sleep in the watch 
below while at the dock, for two hundred howling 
Jamaica blacks roared and surged along the gang- 
ways and crowded the winches, handling the cargo 
ably, while the women came down in swarms to 
chat with the crew and sell a few grapefruit and 
oranges. Boldwin let any one come aboard, and 
as the men were not supposed to handle cargo, they 
had plenty of time in spite of all we could do to 
keep them busy. 

The skipper reported the damage to the agents, 
and told of the disaster below. He was honest. 
He might have saved that bit of knowledge until 
we reached England again, but he told his tale, and 
the agents refused to allow him to sail until the 
pipe was repaired and properly bolted down into 
the bilge plates as it should be. In the smooth 


16^ IN THE WAKE OF THE ENGINE 


water of that mirror-like harbor it seemed an easy 
thing to do. All that was necessary was to get a 
diver to go under the fifteen feet to the outside end 
and pass up the bolts through the flange. 

Mr. Man from Donegal could then get at them 
with his monkey wrench and screw down the nuts 
upon them, clamping the pipe as fast as the keel 
itself. ^ 

“You take a look around uptown and try to get 
hold of a diver,” said the old man. “Mr. Sacks, the 
agent, says he don’t know of any nearer than 
Kingston, and it’ll take two days to get the one 
over there, as he’s out on a wreck off the harbor. 
We can’t wait two days. Got to get to Montego 
Bay and take on a lot of stuff, then get to King- 
ston for clearing and off we go.” 

“Why not wait until we get to Kingston to do 
the trick?” I asked. 

Bill Boldwin gazed at me in contempt. 

“Say, do you want to advertise the fact that we are 
on the bum to all the passengers the line’ll carry? 
Think a minute, man, and don’t ask fool questions. 
We got to get that job done right here — see? We 
don’t go outside until there’s something more’n a 
mattress and a bit of fearnaught between us and 
the bottom of the Caribbean.” 

“But we carried it the last thousand miles all 
right,” I said. 

Bill turned away in disgust. 

As a matter of fact, I didn’t like the idea of try- 
ing to get hold of a diver in Antonio. There were 
not enough divers to go down to find the bottoms 


IN THE WAKE OF THE ENGINE 163 


of the rum bottles ashore, let alone a ship’s bilge. 
It’s true, a man might do the thing naked in that 
clear water. I’ve seen men in the East copper a 
ship twice as deep with nothing on them but a 
hammer and a mouthful of nails. 

After a day’s search I gave it up. Not a man 
knew anything about submarine work, and at the 
hotel they laughed at me when I inquired for a 
diver. I also noticed that Miss Lucy Docking looked 
well sitting upon the veranda of the joint, togged 
out as she was in white linen. She gave me a nod, 
but wasn’t keen on talking when I tried to find out 
if she had made arrangements for lady passengers 
that voyage. 

^^There’s two on the books — that’s all,” she said, 
and gazed placidly out over the tops of the cocoa- 
nuts growing upon the beach below. 

“Your advice last Friday helped me a lot,” I 
said, “and I appreciate it and would •” 

“Would you like some more?” she interrupted 
suddenly. 

“Anything you might suggest,” I said. , 

“Beat it back to the ship, then,” she answered 
without a smile. 

“Sure — if that’s your advice,” I snarled; “the hot 
weather has evidently soured your ” 

“Cut it out — I’m not a guest here, and what do 
you think the agents would say if they saw the 
chief officer of their ‘crack’ liner talking to their 
stewardess sitting on the hotel piazza? I thought 
you had more sense.” 


164f IN THE WAKE OF THE ENGINE 


“I ain’t the only fool aboard — that’s straight,” 
I said. 

“No; nor ashore, either — why don’t you stop that 
hole yourself? You’re big enough and ugly enough 
to stop a clock,” she snapped. 

“Thanks !” I answered, and strode away with the 
kindest feelings imaginable for our stewardess. 

But strange as it may seem, that remark was 
what did the business. I would stop that hole if I 
had to be keelhauled myself to do it. What! Lay 
the ship up a day or two while that lady sat around 
in white duck and looked out dreamily over that 
beautiful harbor? Not if I knew myself. I’d see 
that the ship got away and hoped she would carry 
at least two ugly and indignant aged ladies who 
could and would make life a happy dream for that 
stewardess. 

I went back aboard with the report that there 
was not a diver this side of hell, and that if the 
ship would stand the expense of my funeral I would 
at least try to pass the bolts for the man from 
Donegal to screw fast. 

“Sink a donkey man, anyhow!” I swore, “why 
don’t the company get engineers enough to run a 
ship properly?” 

“Why, indeed?” smiled Bill Boldwin. 

I turned to the men I needed, and with that 
bos’n to give them advice with those flippers of his, 
I peeled off and made ready for the work. The en- 
gine-room force had taken off the pipe and bolted 
a new flange to it, a strong job and proper. The 
affair was all ready to ship just as soon as we dared 


IN THE WAKE OF THE ENGINE 165 


pull the wad of stuffing away and set it up. A 
frame had been rigged in the room to steady the 
affair, and the bolt holes had been reamed out as 
much as they would stand. A deck pump kept the 
water from the vicinity, the water that still leaked 
in around the bolt holes. 

It was necessary to get the wad of stuff away 
from the bolt holes in the flanges, for it spread out 
so that it made passing of bolts from the outside' 
impossible. The pressure upon it from the water 
under the ship at the depth of fifteen feet was 
great, and I was supposed to get a line to it so that 
it might be pulled away by the men on deck after 
we slacked away the three-inch line by which we 
had hauled it into the breach. The pipe was set 
up true over the opening, the holes lined up, a few 
bolts inserted point downward to steady it, and all 
was ready for the man outside to get the blamed 
wad away and pass the bolts upward so that their 
threads would appear through the flange. I went 
on deck and gazed down over the si(Je at the warm 
blue depths. 

'‘Strange that the mate has to do the dog’s work,” 
I said to Mac, who was waiting and watching. 

I had a line rigged under the bilge by passing it 
under the bows and drifting it aft until it came 
right on the line of the hole. It was slack enough 
to allow a handhold, so that I could pull myself 
down quickly and then let go as I pushed in a bolt. 

I took a light line and over I went. 

The water was fine. The light filtered down 
under the ship’s bilge, and it was only dark after I 


166 IN THE WAKE OF THE ENGINE 


swept well under the curve of the side. Still, I 
could see a little, and soon made out a mass which 
I rightly took to be the mattress and stuff filling the 
hole. 

I tried to get the line fast to the thing, feeling 
quickly, but I lost my breath before I got it fast 
and, letting go, struggled to the surface again. 

“What luck?’' asked Mac, grinning over at me. 

I wasted no time in idle words. I recovered and 
grasped the line again and hauled myself furiously 
toward the opening underneath. I could not get 
the line fast, and had to come up and confess that 
I had failed so far. 

“Look out a shark don’t get you,” said some one 
with an idea of wit. 

“Give me a marline spike,” I ordered that bos’n, 
and the beggar got one, handing it to me by a line. 
I dove again, and this time managed to drive the 
•spike in between the turns of the line holding the 
mattress. The next dive I got the small line fast 
to it, and, coming up, told them to slack away on 
the big line inside and haul the small one outside 
and get the stuffing away. It came easy enough, 
and the line of interested faces peering over the 
rail above bore a different look as I hung with one 
hand and rested from the exertion. 

“Now for the bolts,” I said, and one was handed 
down. I hauled under again and inserted it, feeling 
with some satisfaction the other end being grasped 
by some one inboard. Mr. Donkey Man had hold 
of it all right, and, putting on a nut, set it up with- 
out delay. This much of the job was not so hard. 


IN THE WAKE OF THE ENGINE 167 


but I was now getting tired, and found that I could 
hardly get below before I wanted to get my breath 
again. I was no diver — no, not to speak of, but I 
thought of that woman sitting up there waiting, 
taking it easy with her insolence and white dress 


Seven other inch bolts were to be inserted before 
the job could be finished inside, and the water was 
pouring through the bolt holes in streams that kept 
the pumps working full stroke and made working 
about the opening difficult. I came on deck, and 
Bill Boldwin gave me a noggin of rum, grinning 
at me all the time. 

^^You ain’t so bad for a mate — I’ve sailed with 
worse,” said he. 

^The next time I sign on it’ll be as a master 
submarine,” I said, with some feeling. ‘‘Now, if 
I didn’t have to wear these breeches I could do bet- 
ter and faster work.” 

“Why don’t you take ’em off?” he said. 

“But the ladies — I must wear something ” 

“Oh, what do you care for a lot of niggers? 
Strip if it does you any good.” 

I was just about to take his advice when I no- 
ticed the face of Miss Docking passing the port 
along the gangway. She had been attracted by the 
crowd aboard, and had come, woman-like, out of 
pure curiosity, to see what was on. 

“No,” I said; “I’ll fix the rest, all right — gimme 
another noggin.” 

I got seven of the eight bolts in place; and the 
donkey man, assisted by Mac and the entire en- 


168 IN THE WAKE OF THE ENGINE 


gine-room force, set them up one at a time after 
packing the joint properly. Only one wooden plug 
remained inboard, and the water squirted straight 
up nearly fifteen feet with the pressure when that 
was pulled out for my last attempt. If I could get 
that bolt in, there was a job done that would save 
the company perhaps a few hundred dollars, and 
I would get — well, I might get mentioned as some- 
thing better than the ordinary mate when Bill made 
his report. But that wasn’t what made me do the 
thing ; it was the confounded spirit that Lucy 
Docking stirred up within me. Oh, yes, I was a 
fool, all right. I don’t deny it. 

The affair was getting to be something of a cir- 
cus by this time, and the coons who were looking 
on were making remarks. I was about to clear the 
gangway when I thought that here was the last 
plug, the last bolt, and then for a nip and a sleep 
before clearing. I went over with that last bolt, 
and, as I did so, I saw Miss Lucy gazing out of a 
cabin port at me. Before I went under her face 
appeared above the rail and watched. I was so 
tired by this time that I had the small line, which 
was hambroline, fast about my armpits, so that 
Mac and his crew could haul me up if I gave out 
entirely. This was my mistake. 

Down I went, and as I went under I thought 
I heard the word “Shark!” muttered by some of 
the colored folk above. I had just shoved in the 
last bolt when a shadow passed. At the same in- 
stant there was a mighty pull upon the line. I was 
jerked bodily away, and my back scraped the huge 


IN THE WAKE OF THE ENGINE 169 


barnacles which covered the ship all along in the 
wake of her engines clear to her sternpost. The 
razor-like edges cut and stung me. I felt a mighty 
desire to breathe, and tried to get upward. Then 
my head struck the bottom of the ship with great 
violence, and I was partly stunned. This was what 
probably saved my life, for I ceased to breathe, and 
the spasm passed. 

What really happened was this : 

A huge sawfish was swimming about the harbor, 
having just come inside the reef. Tropical seas are 
infested by many of these fish, which “fin out” like 
a shark, and which are probably of the shark 
species. The long snout, unlike the swordfish, 
which is a giant mackerel, is studded with rows of 
sharp teeth, put there for the Lord knows what 
purpose. This monster had come close to the ship, 
and the negroes had spotted him, and thought him a 
shark at a distance where his snout could not be 
seen. 

Some one shouted, “Shark!” and the intelligent 
bos’n hauled line with those finlike flippers of his 
after the manner of a sperm-whaler coming upon 
a three hundred-barrel whale. My head had struck 
the ship’s bilge, and my back had been cut open 
with the razor-like barnacles — and then the fish, 
getting frightened at the uproar, dove below, and 
his teeth on his saw snout fouled the line. 

It parted, but it parted between him and the ship, 
and away I went in tow of a flying sawfish. 

I knew nothing about it for some time, luckily; 
it would have affected my nerves. 


170 IN THE WAKE OF THE ENGINE 


Luckily the negroes were active in spite of their 
laziness. A small boat, lying alongside the ship, 
was instantly manned, and within a minute it was 
after me, with four stout blacks pulling for all they 
were worth. A man in the bow reached over and 
jabbed at the line with his boat hook and jerked it 
aboard. Then he lifted me in and turned me over 
to the rest in the boat, while he held on to the line 
and played the fish gamely for all the sport there 
was in it. 

I came to in that boat towing behind a sawfish, 
which the natives seemed to think was more impor- 
tant to catch than me getting back aboard and re- 
ceiving proper treatment for being nearly cut in 
two and drowned. 

The line finally broke, and they rowed me sor- 
rowfully back alongside. I looked up, and saw 
Miss Lucy Docking gazing over the side with some 
show of anxiety expressed upon her face. Also I 
noted Bill Boldwin, skipper of the Prince Albert, 
showing some interest in the proceedings. 

‘‘Send him aboard, you black scoundrels!” 
screamed Miss Lucy. “How dare you keep that 
man in the boat chasing a good-for-nothing fish?” 

“Bring him alongside, or I’ll be in there after 
you,” roared Bill. 

My bos’n passed a line down, and I was quickly 
hoisted aboard, where I was laid out flat on my 
back, as I was still too weak to stand. Miss Lucy 
herself poured whisky down my throat and 
smoothed my wet hair back from my bleeding head. 

“Arnica, you lazy rascals!” she hissed, and some 


IN THE WAKE OF THE ENGINE 171 


one went for it. My cuts were soaked in it, and it 
stung furiously, but the cuts of barnacles are poi- 
sonous, and I rather preferred arnica to friar’s bal- 
sam, which I knew Bill would rub me with. Then 
the bos’n helped me to my bunk, and Miss Lucy 
Docking was left alone with me to attend to my 
wants. 

“I suppose my advice and counsel was not so 
good this time?” she said as Bill left us. 

"‘Well, it taught me one thing, all right 
enough,” I said, ‘‘and that may do me some good 
in the future.” 

“And how is that?” asked the lady, looking at 
me with some show of concern. She had wonder- 
ful eyes, and her hair was noticeably curly at the 
temples — and her mouth 

“Well, it will teach me never, no, never, under 
any circumstances whatever, do you understand? 
— never to take it again,” I said, taking her hand. 

“We’ll see about that later on,” she said, and her 
month had a peculiar droop at the corners that has 
been a constant source of dread to me ever since — 
that is, whenever I see it. 


IN THE HULL OF THE ‘‘HER- 
ALDINE” 

I UNDERSTAND that you did good work in 
the Prince Alfred in time of trouble/' said 
Lord Hawkes, looking at me with approval. 
He was manager of the Prince Line, and, when he 
sent for any of us to tell us that we had done well, 
it was time to — well, he didn't often do that, and I 
must have shown some embarrassment. 

I remained silent, holding my cap in my hands 
and looking at Boldwin, my skipper, who had done 
me the honor to report me favorably in the log 
book. 

‘T hear, also," continued Lord Hawkes, “that you 
are a good diver, a master workman under 
water " 

“Pardon me, your lordship," I interrupted, “I'm 
but a licensed ship’s officer, and what I don’t know 
about diving would fill a dozen empty log books." 

“Well, at all events, you showed resource. Yes, 
my good Garnett, you are a man of infinite resource. 
There’s no doubt about that, and that’s what I’m 
coming to. You are also resolute in time of trou- 
ble, and the two qualities are what I need in the 
work I am going to send you to do." 

172 


IN HULL OF THE ^^HERALDINE** 173 


Bill Boldwin looked scared. He didn’t want to 
lose his mate. He had simply spoken for me that I 
might get in the good books of the company, not get 
away from his ship. 

The manager of the Bay Line seemed to be study- 
ing some papers upon the desk before him while we 
two stood respectfully in front as became seamen 
in the presence of our mighty ruler. Boldwin was 
keen on lords. I hadn’t associated with them to any 
great extent myself, but I was willing — no matter 
what might be said about them. 

‘The Princess Heraldine, our Cape liner, left port 
August the fifth,” said Lord Hawkes. “She had 
aboard in her safe the famous Solander diamond, a 
stone nearly as large as the Cullinan and worth 
something like a round half-million dollars. Also 
she had about three million more in various stones 
uncut and consigned to the firm here. In running 
up the West African coast, she broke her crank 
shaft and drove it through her bottom, tearing the 
compartment to pieces, and forcing Captain Sum- 
ner to head for Lagos in the hope of beaching her 
before she sank. He managed to get her into ten 
fathoms on that low, sandy coast, and she went 
down about a mile or two offshore. 

“All the passengers were saved, but by some 
oversight the combination of the safe was lost at 
the time they needed it, owing to the agent. Grimes, 
being either too frightened or too ill to remem- 
ber it. 

“C^tain Sumner — the only other man aboard 
who knew the combination — was unable to either 


174 IN HULL OF THE ^‘HERALDINE 


leave the bridge at the critical moment of her sink- 
ing, owing to the necessity of saving the passengers 
in the small boats, or tell any one before the Heral- 
dine suddenly settled and went down, carrying five 
of the crew and the entire contents of the safe along 
with her/’ 

Lord Hawkes looked up at me shrewdly as he 
finished and gazed into my eyes. 

I saw nonnecessity for a reply. There was a few 
minutes’ silence, then he went on : 

‘‘The wrecking company is now on the way there, 
but there has been some trouble experienced with 
them and with the underwriters. Therefore we’ve 
deemed it worth while to send a ship — one of our 
regular Cape boats on her lay-up voyage — to Lagos, 
and try for the safe. 

“The ship is a total loss, and will be covered all 
right, but the diamonds are not insured, owing, as 
I have said, to some disagreement with the under- 
writers lately, and it has been just our luck to lose 
them this voyage. 

“You are to take the Prince JohUj and go to La- 
gos. There you will find the wrecking crew waiting 
orders. You are to see that we get that safe intact 
— you understand? We want that safe just as it 
was before it went to the bottom. Your orders are 
here.” And he handed me a folded document. 
“You will leave at once.” 

“Aye, aye, sir,” I said, somewhat bewildered, but 
getting the lay of the thing straight enough. “Is 
that all, sir?” 

“That’s all. If you wish anything regarding de- 


IN HULL OF THE ^^HERALDINE*^ 175 


tails, you will see Mr. Smith of the main office. I 
wish again to impress you that this mission is im- 
portant.’’ 

It struck me so at once. A few millions in dia- 
monds in ten fathoms — in a ten-ton safe ! Yes, that 
was something worth looking after. It was im- 
portant, all right. Seemed easy enough. Any one 
who knows anything about wrecking, knows that 
ten fathoms isn’t too deep to work, although it’s 
some little ways down. It depends also upon other 
conditions, which might or might not prevail. I’d 
get that safe easy enough — yank it aboard all 
standing, as we say at sea. 

Well, within two days I was standing on the 
bridge of the Prince John, and wondering how the 
poor fellows in Africa managed to keep a ship of 
her class afloat long enough to lay her up. 

It was the company’s policy to have their African 
steamers laid up at Cape Town — helped labor, local 
progress, and all that sort of thing. In reality they 
got the work done for about half what it would cost 
them in England. 

The Prince John could make ten knots under most 
favorable circumstances, but as this was her lay-up 
voyage, she, as might be imagined, was not doing 
her best. I think she rammed along about eight, 
most of the way down; and McDougal, the chief 
engineer, was working like a machinist from day- 
light till dark to get her to do that. 

We carried only the crew of six seamen and ten 
firemen, with two engineers, a donkeyman, a pair of 
mates, a cook, and galley boy. Just two dozen of 


176 IN HULL OF THE ^^HERALDINE*’ 


us all told; and, while I had never commanded a 
ship of any size before, I was not suffering much 
from swelled cranium as I stood upon the bridge 
and gave orders. 

Low-powered, black-sided, with the regulation 
Clyde bow and round stern, she was no better than 
a tramp. We carried extra diving and hoisting 
gear for the wrecking crew that had preceded us. 
Our winches were heavy, and built for working in 
the African trade where a ship must handle her 
own cargo. They would be useful in the work 
ahead. 

My mates, Simpson and Dennison, were good 
men, and knew their little book all right. Simpson 
had a very red nose, and looked as if he liquored on 
the sly, but he never showed groggy on duty, so I 
had no chance to call him down. He would con- 
tinue the voyage as captain after I got that safe 
up and on its way to England. Dennison was 
young and boyish. He was a good lad, and never 
slept in his watch on deck — at least I never caught 
him. 

The run was uneventful, and we were sooner or 
later close to the West African coast, running 
through an oily sea, and pointing for Lagos. 

One hot and stifling morning after I had worked 
the sight, I was sitting in a deck chair at the pilot- 
house door, thinking of Lucy Docking, and how I 
might make a saving of fifteen pounds a month out 
of a salary fixed at twelve. This mathematical 
problem was unfinished when Dennison hailed me 
from the bridge. 


IN HULL OF THE ^^HERALDINE^^ 17T 


^‘Vessel right ahead, sir, anchored about a mile 
and a half offshore,” he said. 

It was our friends, the wrecking crew, and we 
had arrived. 

The topmasts of the Heraldine stuck clear of the 
oily sea. She had been a three-masted ship with 
square rig forward and fore and aft upon the main 
and mizzen. She had sails upon her spars already 
bent after the old-time style of low-powered ships. 
She lay easily in about ten or twelve fathoms, and 
had a slight list to port owing to her settling a bit 
upon her bilge. 

Being very flat and wide-bottomed, she looked al- 
most ready to rise and continue her voyage lying as 
she did in that smooth sea, and being unhurt save 
for that gash in her bilge where the broken crank 
tore through, thrashing her life out before the en- 
gineer could shut off steam. 

I pictured for a moment the huge flail, the piston 
with the broken crank attached, the pieces not less 
than half a ton, whirling up and down under the 
full pressure of her cylinders with nothing to stop 
it. There must have been a wild mess in that en- 
gine room with a crazy hammer going full tilt like 
that. 

As in most single-screw ships, her crank must 
have thrown down when connected but a foot or 
two above her bilge, and when it tore loose it must 
have struck full power at each and every wild throw 
of the piston. 

My business was not to raise her, however. She 
was not worth it, having insurance, and being bet- 


178 IN HULL OF THE ^‘HERALDINE” 


ter as a total loss. I was after getting into the 
treasure room situated just beneath the main deck 
forward of the boilers. 

The room, from the drawings furnished by her 
builders, was' an iron compartment ten by fifteen 
feet. At one end of it — the forward one — was 
built the huge safe. This was bolted down, and to 
the beams. 

It was not a new affair, having done duty for 
years in the African trade, but it had a very effec- 
tive combination lock of the usual kind, and, as one 
would have to open the strong-room door before 
being able to get to the combination of the safe, it 
was considered perfectly competent to carry any 
amount of treasure. 

Mr. Haswell, of Haswell & Jones, submarine ex- 
perts, came aboard from the powerful wrecking tug, 
which lay near us. He was a little man, but quite 
fat. Red hair and whiskers gave his pale face a 
peculiar sickly tint, but he was not a sickly man. He 
was reckoned one of the best deep-water workers in 
England, and could stand a very high pressure for 
a long time. Little pale eyes looked shrewdly at me 
as he presented his card, coming aboard as he did 
from a boat rowed by six sturdy blacks — “kroo 
boys,” he called them. I met him at the side, and 
shook hands. 

‘‘We’re ready to begin whenever you say,” he 
said. “I got the firm’s letter, and have only just 
arrived myself. They told me you had the gear 
aboard with you.” 

“Yes, I have plenty of gear, all right,” I an- 


IN HULL OF THE ^‘HERALDINH^ 179 


swered, ‘*and you can commence work to-day if 
you want to. This place is too cold for me, and Fd 
just as soon get away from here the next day, if 
possible.” 

“It’s some hot, all right, but one don’t notice it 
below so much. I suppose those derricks you’ve got 
will hold all right — what?” And he gazed at our 
hoisting gear. 

The thermometer was one hundred and six under 
the after awning, and not a breath of air stirring. 
The hot, sandy coast shone like a white band, fring- 
ing the blue water, and I wondered what kind of 
weather it was on that white, sandy shore. 

We went over the gear together, and then sat 
sweating and panting for air, while the steward 
brought us something cool to drink — that is, as cool 
as could be procured. Then I went with Mr. Has- 
well aboard the wrecking tug, and was introduced 
to the working force. 

Ten white men and twenty blacks were the outfit. 
This with what I had was enough to raise the ship 
had we so wished. Only two of the white men 
were divers — Williams, a sturdy fellow weighing 
nearly three hundred ; and Mitchell, a short, power- 
ful man, about two hundred and fifty. Both were 
under forty, and had done plenty of deep-water 
work. They looked upon the job as trifling. 

“We’ll blow the deck off to-morrow, and then 
tear out a side of the room,” said Haswell. “After 
that we can disconnect the safe, and you can get 
your winches to do the rest. In three days we ought 
to cover the job.” 


180 IN HULL OF THE ^‘HERALDINE’^ 


The hot, oily calm continued. The night was 
something fierce to contemplate. The sun came out 
again like a molten ball of metal, and Haswell 
donned his suit lazily, while the air pumps, manned 
by four blacks, were started. 

A ladder reaching a fathom down under the sea 
was fastened to the tug’s side, and Haswell lowered 
himself over upon it, and waited for his helmet. 
This was fastened by Williams, and then the air 
was started. 

As it whistled into the dome, the front glass was 
screwed on, and the little man was shut off from us. 
Slowly he went down and swung clear, dropping out 
of sight in a storm of bubbles which rose from his 
helmet. 

I took out the water glass. This was a cylindrical 
bucket with a glass bottom. By jamming one’s head 
into the bucket and sinking the bottom of the affair 
under the sea to a depth of three or four inches, 
objects could be seen about twice as distinctly as 
without it — this owing to the fact that in the open 
the reflection and motion of the light upon the al- 
ways moving sea surface, prevent the gaze from 
following objects distinctly. 

In order to use the water glass it was, of course, 
necessary to get close to the sea. 

I dropped into the small boat lying alongside the 
wrecking tug, and leaned far over the gunwale, 
peering down. The long, easy swell, the sure sign 
of an immense calm area of sea, came slowly from 
the westward and rolled the boat gently but enough 
to keep me from getting a good look until I caught 


IN HULL OF THE ^‘HERALDINE^^ 181 


my balance. Then I managed to get the glass down 
firmly, and hold it about four inches under with my 
head in the bucket. 

At first I could make out little or nothing. The 
sea was not very clear at the spot, owing to the close 
proximity of the low, sandy shore where the surf 
rolled incessantly, stirring up the bottom. Soon I 
could make out the outline of the deck below where 
the flying bridge rose within three fathoms of the 
surface. 

The Heraldine was drawing about twenty-two 
feet when she sank, and her flying bridge was fully 
twenty-five to thirty above the sea. I tried to see 
farther, but could make out nothing at all. 

The lines of the diver led toward the fore part 
of the ship, and moved slightly. Williams, who 
tended them, sat listlessly upon the rail of the tug, 
and gave or drew in as the occasion called. I kept 
looking to see things, but could make out nothing 
further in the way of the wreck. 

A huge shadow passed under me — a long, dark 
shape. It was a gigantic shark nosing about the 
wreck. 

I called out to Williams. 

“No fear,” he replied lazily; “they won’t hurt 
him in that dress — might if he was naked.” 

The shark passed along forward, and sank down 
out of sight. Then Haswell signaled that he was 
coming up. 

He came slowly, and I watched the lines coming 
in. Soon the metal helmet appeared, and then he 
climbed with seeming difficulty up the ladder. 


18^ IN HULL OF THE ^^HERALDINH^ 


helped by Williams. When he came above the rail, 
he hung over it, and his front glass was unscrewed, 
the pumps stopped working, and we came close to 
hear the news. 

“Located her all right,” he said. “You can fix 
up about twenty pounds of number two gelatine — 
better put it in a tube, and be sure to make the 
wires fast — have to pull it through some wreckage 
down there.” 

“See anything of a big shark?” I asked. 

“Oh, yes, I gave him a poke in the stomach with 
a stick — he won’t bother me in this dress — but I did 
get nipped by one of those poisonous snakes — see?” 
And he held out his hand, where a small trickle of 
blood ran down from the second joint of his fore- 
finger. 

Williams gave an exclamation. The natives 
looked at him anxiously. 

“I’ll come aboard and rest a while before going 
down again,” said Haswell. And he was helped 
aboard, and undressed. 

His finger swelled while this was being done, and, 
by the time he stood in his flannels, he had a hand 
that was fast turning black. Williams said little. 
The poisonous water snakes that infest certain trop- 
ical seas close to the river mouths were known to 
him. Those in the Indian Ocean are especially dan- 
gerous. 

Haswell gazed at the blackening finger, and shook 
his head. 

“Better give me some whisky,” he said. He 


IN HULL OF THE ^‘HERALDINE** 18S 


drank, and sat down. Williams stood near, and 
Mitchell came up. 

“That’s a bad bite/’ said Mitchell. 

“Well, I suppose there’s no use waiting any 
longer — cut it off, and be quick,” said Has well. 

Mitchell, iron-nerved and steady, cut the finger 
off close to the hand, and stopped the flow of blood 
with a strong bandage. The swelling continued, 
and the arm began to pain greatly. 

“Cut away the hand,” said Haswell, white and 
shaky, but showing an amazing coolness. He re- 
alized his danger. Mitchell performed another am- 
putation. 

Within an hour they had his arm off at the elbow, 
and Haswell was turning blue all over. 

It was an uncanny thing — right there in that 
bright sunshine, a man done a mortal injury by 
some foul sea vermin that had attacked him in the 
depths. I had heard of the sea snakes that come 
down the African rivers and go well offshore, but 
had never seen one. Those in the Indian Ocean I 
had seen often, and remembered that they were 
about four or five feet long and a few inches in cir- 
cumference. 

Haswell, with remarkable nerve, faced his end 
unflinchingly. It was wonderful to see him sitting 
there, unafraid, with his arm three times its natural 
size at the shoulder where the last bandage of Mit- 
chell had been fastened. 

“I reckon I’ll last about an hour longer,” he fi- 
nally said. “It’s — no — use.” His strength was 


184 IN HULL OF THE ^^HERALDINH^ 


leaving him, and he spoke haltingly, in hardly more 
than a Avhisper. 

They gave him more whisky, and waited. Then 
Williams took down his last words in reference to 
his family affairs, and Haswell laid himself down 
on a transom. Two hours later he was stone dead. 

That was a beginning that would have shaken the 
nerve of many men. Mitchell had his partner sewn 
up in canvas, and they buried him far out at sea, 
rowing off in the small boat. 

The next day Williams started down. He found 
the location of the strong room, and was careful to 
wear heavy gloves while working. Then he placed 
the charge. 

The crack that followed was not loud — deep 
down as it was. A storm of bubbles arose to the 
surface, and the sea lifted a few inches just over 
the place where the gelatine exploded. Then Mit- 
chell prepared to go down and examine the result. 

The oily sea heaved and sank with the long swell, 
and there was nothing to indicate that there would 
be any trouble. Nothing could move the wreck. 
Mitchell went under at eleven that morning, and, 
after he had been down half an hour, Williams sig- 
naled him. He received no answer. With some 
anxiety, the big man started to haul line, when, to 
the horror of all, the two lines — hose and life line 
— came in easily without anything at their end. 

The hose showed a clean cut well down near the 
helmet, and the life line showed a ragged cut or 
break which stranded it out a full foot. Mitchell 


IN HULL OF THE ^^HERALDINH* 185 


was left below, cut off from us as clean as if he had 
been left upon the moon. 

Williams strove with all haste to get into another 
suit, but it was a good ten minutes before he did so. 
He went down with a man of his outfit holding line 
for him, and came back in ten minutes with a white 
face and staring eyes. 

“Whole side of the room fell on him,” he said; 
“cut his hose and — and left him there. Give me a 
line, ril get him out.” 

“Dead ?” I whispered. 

He looked up at me from the circular hole in the 
helmet, and seemed to think me mad. 

“Dead? Of course, he s dead — a ton or two of 
iron on top of him, and no air — sure he's dead. 
We’ll have to put the line to the winch to haul him 
out from under it.” 

We buried Mitchell as we had Haswell, hauling 
him from under the wreckage by a line to our steam 
winch, and afterward carrying him well out to sea, 
where he was weighted and sunk. It was bitter 
work, and all the time that hot sun shone down upon 
us until the seams of the decks warped and the tar 
ran out of the lanyards. 

Williams was shaken. The next day he refused 
to go down, and pleaded a rest necessary. His men 
were silent and awed. I could say nothing to urge 
them on, as I felt that they had endured enough for 
a few days, at least. 

Then Williams was taken with the African fever, 
and there was no one left who would go below for 
any amount of money offered. The horror of the 


186 IN HULL OF THE ^^HERALDINH* 


thing had shaken the nerves of the entire outfit. 
There might be millions below there, but no man 
of that crew would touch them just at present, and 
we were lying there in that oily sea, eating up the 
company’s money and cursing at the strange chance 
that had made our expedition so fatal. 

At the end of a week Williams was so bad that 
I gave him up as a factor to help us. At times he 
was delirious, and raved horribly. His men were 
for abandoning the work, and putting into Lagos, 
and from there clearing for home. 

I refused to hear of such a thing, although I was 
a bit worked up at the outcome of what had at first 
appeared to be an easy job. To send North for 
more divers was to delay the work months. To 
await the coming of the next coast steamer meant 
delay of at least three weeks — and even then there 
was no certainty of help from her. She didn’t 
carry divers, and, although she would naturally give 
me any aid in her power, belonging to our company 
as she did, I felt that I would rather not ask any- 
thing from her skipper until the last act. 

A man named Rokeby of the tug’s working crew 
offered to tend line for me if I chose to go down. 
He assured me that the pressure at fifty or even 
sixty feet would not injure me. I might suffer 
some from the splitting headache natural to the 
pressure, but that was all. I could blow open the 
safe or get chains fast to it, or cut it adrift some- 
how. 

I thought over the matter while Williams raved 


IN HULL OF THE ‘^HERALDINH^ 18T 


and rolled in his sweltering bunk, and the sun shone 
down upon that dead ocean full of crawling life and 
hidden treasure. 

‘'Gimme the gloves and plenty of air,” I finally 
said, after waiting three days, hoping that some of 
the wrecking crew would get their nerve back. 

They all showed willingness to work if I went 
down, and I was soon incased in the suit of Wil- 
liams. 

If you think I was not nervous, you should have 
had an inside photo of my mind as I stood there 
upon the rounds of the ladder waiting for Rokeby 
to screw fast the front glass. I would have given 
it up but for the looks of the men. They seemed 
to gaze upon me with a sort of awe and amaze- 
ment, but they made no comment whatever. 

The kroo boys swung the pump handles with a 
will, and when I heard the hiss of the air I must 
say my heart gave two jumps and came near land- 
ing overboard — at least, it felt that way; but I 
would have died rather than let those men see that 
I was afraid. Such is the ego, the vanity of us all. 

“Shall I screw her on, sir?” 

The voice was Rokeby’s, and it aroused me from 
the contemplation of the thing to do. I tried to 
look bored and annoyed. 

“Yes, screw it down — mind the lines tenderly, 
and pull me right up if I give the signal,” I said. 

“Aye, aye, sir,” he answered, and he screwed in 
the front glass. 

The air whistled into the helmet back of my head, 
and the noise aroused me to a sense of the danger 


188 IN HULL OF THE ^^HERALDINE^’ 


should it suddenly cease. I put one foot and then 
another upon the ladder rungs, and went down until 
I swung off. 

It seemed as if I was about to fly off into space, 
and for a few moments I almost lost my balance. 
Then my heavy leaden shoes sank me straight down, 
and I dropped slowly until my feet touched some- 
thing. 

The light had gradually faded as I left the sur- 
face, and where I now stood it seemed to be pitch 
dark. The pressure of the air appeared to swell my 
head, and a roaring was in my ears. Then I deter- 
mined to do something, and bent forward to see if I 
could. 

Gradually the dim outline of the ship’s deck took 
form before the glass — that is, the deck in my im- 
mediate vicinity. I could make out the rail, and be- 
gan pulling myself along by it. Soon I came to the 
pilot house forward, and recognized it by feeling 
the panels of the glass front with my hands. 

I knew that I was just about right in regard to 
position, and started for the rail to get over the 
side and down to the place where the blow-out had 
been made. I carefully swung one leg over and 
then another, amazed at the ease with which I lifted 
the immense leaden shoes. Then guiding my air 
hose and line clear of the rail, I slipped off, and 
dropped down to the bottom far below. 

In spite of the fact that I had now been under 
several minutes, I could not make out objects well 
enough to do anything; but determined to try to 
feel for the opening to the safe. After ten min- 


IN HULL OF THE ^^HERALDINH^ 189 


utes spent groping about, I felt an immense hole in 
the ship’s side, my fingers going carefully around 
the edges where the torn plates told of the force of 
the blast. 

I entered and felt for the sides of the room 
within where the blast had torn out the iron and 
held it hanging to drop upon the unfortunate Mit- 
chell. I now saw I could do nothing without more 
light, and carefully made my way out to the sea 
floor, where I signaled to haul me up. 

I came slowly, and as I did so my brain appeared 
swelling until it seemed no longer possible to hold 
it within my skull. The pain was intense, and I 
hardly noticed the growing light until I was at the 
foot of the ladder. Then I climbed up, being 
dragged bodily by my life line. The front was 
taken off my helmet, and I spoke. 

^‘It’s all right,” I panted, ^^get the lamp out, and 
stand by to send me down the tools I’ll need.” 

Rokeby gave me a small drink of whisky, and the 
rest soon had the electric lamp ready. I went below 
again. This time I had no trouble in finding my 
way, for the light from the spark penetrated the sea 
for several feet about me. 

In the watery darkness I made out the hole, and 
saw the damage done by the charge. The entire 
wall of the compartment had been blown in, and, 
in going into the room, Mitchell had gotten under 
it so that he had dislodged an immense piece of 
plate which had fallen upon him, and cut off his air 
and line. 

I went forward cautiously, and poked the lamp 


190 IN HULL OF THE ^^HERALDINE^^ 


ahead of me. It seemed a long way to the safe, 
but I finally came up against it, and made out its 
outline in the lamplight. Its edge stood out sharply. 
Beyond was the inky blackness of a tomb. 

I saw that it would be necessary for me to blow it 
loose from the beams, as I was not good enough 
workman to cut or loosen the bolts. Making a 
hasty but pretty good examination of the bottom 
and sides, I determined to go back aboard and study 
it out. A little powder underneath would loosen the 
floor bolts, and then, with a stout chain about it, 
we might start the winches to haul it through the 
opening, which I saw would have to be enlarged 
at the bottom. I came up, and was satisfied for the 
day. 

The next morning I had recovered my nerve to a 
great extent, and was eager to get to work. The 
men were also better pleased at the prospect. My 
head had bothered me all night, but now eased up, 
as I donned the rubber. 

So far I had seen neither fish nor crawling rep- 
tile. The bottom was not very soft, however, and 
was so covered with weed and sea growths that it 
may have harbored many things not visible to the 
eye at that depth. I kept to the gloves, not daring 
to risk my hands after Haswell’s fatal ending. 

The first shot tore the bottom ofif the compart- 
ment, and left the safe hanging by the bolts against 
the bulkhead. The second shot broke away these, 
and, when I went down again, I found the safe 
had dropped down to the deck below, the powder, 
or rather nitrogelatine, having torn the deck away 


IN HULL OF THE ^^HERALDINE” 191 


for the space of fifteen feet or more, leaving ragged 
splinters of deck planking sticking forth. 

The electric lamp showed the mass below me as 
I stood at the edge of the hole, and I very care- 
fully drew my line and air so that they would not 
foul when I dropped over. Then I went down and 
found the safe intact, but in a very difficult posi- 
tion to handle. 

The next blast required a large charge, in order 
to blow the side out down to the lower deck, as it 
was impossible to drag that safe up through the 
hole. I placed fifty pounds of gelatine in two 
charges just abreast the safe on the outside of the 
hull, and blew away the plates until a trolley car 
could almost have entered the hole in the ship's 
side. 

I was all ready now for getting slings upon the 
treasure, and I could hardly wait until the next 
day. 

The wreck was in very bad shape below from the 
effects of the blasts, but I was nearly done now. 
Another day might find the diamonds upon the deck 
of the old ship above me. I managed to pass turns 
of a heavy chain around the safe, and stop them 
up so that they could be hocked to the fall. Then 
I got the tackle down, and by means of a whip to the 
tug started the mass of metal outboard. 

It came along all right, and I thought it would 
go clear. Then something suddenly stopped it be- 
low, and I had to go down again to clear it. It 
was fast in the hole, having jammed against the 


192 IN HULL OF THE ^^HERALDINH' 


edge so that no amount of pulling would break it 
clear. 

I lost no time getting another tackle to it, and 
rigged it to lift it end up, and turn it over, then the 
first fall would pull it out and clear. I was getting 
pretty well used to being below by this time, and 
the headache was lessening. I found that I could 
remain under fully half an hour now, and work 
most of that time. 

The last time I went below I had a premonition 
that all was not as it should be down there, and I 
went along very carefully. I made my way into 
the ship’s hull, and was just getting the new tackle 
set up taut and ready, when the whole ship heeled 
suddenly to port. The safe slewed sideways and 
slid down the now slanting deck^ blocking the hole 
entirely across, but leaving my lines and tackle clear. 

I signaled to come up at once. Then my line 
jerked, hauled me close up to the opening, and there 
I jammed, stuck so I could not get back. I signaled 
frantically for help, and they pulled me with all 
their might. But they might as well have tried to 
lift the wreck itself. I was caught. 

During the next few minutes I thought a great 
deal. The horror of my situation dawned upon 
me. I was fast below there — not a chance for get- 
ting out. There seemed nothing to do, but wait 
placidly for the end. 

The next few minutes were hours to me. I could 
signal with the line, but that was all. They knew 
I was alive, and they knew something must have 
happened by the heeling of the sunken wreck. 


IN HULL OF THE ‘^HERALDINE^^ 193 


The blasting had probably blown away the sandy 
bottom under her, and she had simply cast over and 
slid the stuff to leeward. 

There w^as plenty of room to take that safe out 
endways, but it was now so fixed that some one 
would have to slew it around before that could be 
done. My lamp was still burning, and the black- 
ness lost some of its terrors in that pitiful light. 

I was in the hull of a lost ship, and I felt that 
I was indeed a lost man. Memories came and went 
with lightning-like rapidity. I thought of Lucy 
Docking, and wondered how she would take my 
death. Then I began to feel the effects of the pres- 
sure, and my head grew flighty. 

I dreamed of beautiful blue skies and green fields, 
the shore, the mountains ; and all the time Lucy was 
with me, going from place to place. I was not un- 
happy. There was a feeling of contentment with 
the woman I had chosen, and it was all real, so 
real that I only awoke under the vicious pulling 
upon my life line by the men above. 

Then the horror of my situation came back to 
me, and the roaring in my ears told me of my pre- 
dicament. I gazed out of the front glass into the 
dark medium about me, the rays of the lamp mak- 
ing sharp outlines and shadows. 

I remembered the safe. It lay. jammed across 
the hole, and, while I was too feeble to take great 
interest, I recall watching it with a sort of fascina- 
tion. I felt its sides, its edges. Then the com- 
bination attracted me, shining as it did in the dim 
light, like a bit of white in the surrounding black- 


194 IN HULL OF THE ^^HERALDINH^ 


ness. I lazily turned the knob, whirled it about. 
And all the time they were pumping air to me 
under the pressure of fifty feet of water. 

I felt at the aperture above where the edge of 
the safe shut off the opening. There was nearly a 
foot of clear room, but this was not enough for my 
figure, incased as it was in the suit. It was ample 
for the life line and hose to pass through without 
any interruption at all, and all I had to do was to 
live long enough for them to get that safe away. 
Surely some one would come down, and try to 
sling it again properly. 

I lay with my front glass to the opening, and held 
the lamp so that the rays would shine outside. 
There I watched and tried to control the thoughts 
that kept coming with a surging feeling of dread 
that made my heart thump all the harder. Drowsi- 
ness would come, and the whirling in my brain 
would get me back again to the land and beautiful 
dreams. Then the jerking and hauling, and trying 
to dislodge me would arouse me again, and I would 
come back to the present. 

I remember watching through the opening, and 
seeing forms passing. These must have been fish, 
or denizens of the sea. They flitted through the 
range of the lamp like sudden ghosts, the light 
striking their bodies, and then disappearing into 
the blackness without. 

The lamp suddenly went out. 

I was seized with the wildest terror at the inky 
blackness about me. The full horror of it all now 
came with greater force. That tiny spark had kept 


IN HULL OF THE ^^HERALDINE^^ 195 

me up wonderfully. It had seemed like a ray of 
hope. I put out my hands with muscles shaking and 
trembling, feeling that inexorable edge of iron that 
shut me off from life. 

Would Rokeby try it? Would he try to save me? 

That was the final thought. I tried to put my- 
self in his place. I would do much for a man dying 
by inches — dying where he might be saved if one 
would take a little risk. He might get below in 
time yet. He might get a whip upon that safe, and, 
with the powerful wrecking tug working her 
winches, upset the huge square of steel, and drag it 
out of the way. 

But if he was coming down, he should have come 
hours ago. As a matter of fact, I had already 
been down half an hour, and I could stand it for at 
least twice that long yet. But it seemed to me that 
I had been abandoned, that they were too cowardly 
to try to save me. My whirling brain and roaring 
ears told me a story of days of suffering, of in- 
terminable torture. 

Would Rokeby try it? 

I remembered how it struck me when Mitchell’s 
line came up cut off from him. I knew what that 
poor fellow had gone through; what he had suf- 
fered, at least, for a few moments down there. 

No, I would hardly blame Rokeby for not try- 
ing it. It was too dangerous for any one to try 
And yet 

That latent hope, that feeling that there would 
be something at last, kept me from dying. The air 


196 IN HULL OF THE ^^HERALBINH' 


was still coming down, and I was in no immediate 
danger. 

I tried to make myself think that I was in no 
danger at all; that all would be well when Rokeby 
came down, and got a hold of the safe. But I 
knew in my heart that the men above, the whole 
general crew, were not the men to help. 

As a record of fact, the men above were awed at 
the disaster, and only Rokeby’s steadiness saved my 
life. He had the pumps kept going, and finally de- 
cided that he would have to take a chance down 
there, or let me die like a hooked fish. He was man 
enough to overcome the nerve-shaking dangers that 
had beset us, and he put on another suit. Then, 
with his breath fairly gone from fright, he went 
down to help me. 

He had never gone below before, except under 
most favorable conditions and in very shallow 
water. Still, he knew what to do, and he managed 
to get a good man above to tend line for him. He 
found things in bad shape at the opening, but lost 
no more time than he could help getting a purchase 
to the end of that safe, and the winches started. In 
half an hour they had dragged it clear of the ship, 
and I was hauled aboard insensible, but still alive. 

Before I had regained my senses, they had the 
safe fast aboard the old hooker, and I had the 
satisfaction of staggering on deck to view it. 

There it was, all right, perfectly intact. I had 
saved the company several millions, and it had cost 
the lives of two men, and nearly my own. 

There was not a moment lost in getting away 


IN HULL OF THE ^^HERALDINE** 197 


from that hot, unhealthy coast. We got under way 
that very evening with Williams still stricken with 
the fever, and myself too weak to sit up, but I would 
not stop a minute. 

“Get her under way at once,” I said, and the 
mates needed no urging. 

The wrecking tug, under full steam, came along- 
side, and the safe was slung carefully over to her 
deck, where it was bolted down and made as fast as 
a sailor could make it. I put a metal line about it, 
and sealed it up, not even willing to trust to the 
safe combination that had withstood the blasts and 
the sea. 

“Good-by, and a pleasant voyage to the Cape for 
you,” I said to my former shipmates. They steamed 
away to the southward to lay the old ship up for re- 
pairs, and we, in the mighty wrecker. Viking, under 
full power and making fifteen knots the hour, stood 
back for old England, where we arrived safe 
enough a short time later. 


A TWO-STRANDED YARN 


PART I. 


APTAIN GANTLINE?” The words es- 
caped me like a shot from a gun. 



^‘Sure as eggs — ’n where did you come 
from?’’ said that stout seaman. He stood at the 
bar of Bill’s place on Telegraph Hill, drinking rum. 
His eyes, crinkled up at the corners like the ripples 
of a ship’s cutwater in a smooth sea, were blood- 
shot and liquor-soaked. Old man Gantline was 
broad of beam and shorter than myself — no real 
good seaman is tall — and he raised his empty 
glass and hammered upon the bar with it. 

''Gimme another drink,” said he to the barkeeper. 
Then he turned to me. "So it’s you fer sure, old 
man — well, well, what a small world it is, after all ! 
Take a nip — I’m sure glad to see you — an’ how’d 
it happen?” 

I saw that old Gantline was getting drunk. It 
was a shame. The old skipper was a crack packet 
skipper. I was amazed at him, for he was not a 
drinking man. I wondered what made him do it. 
The barkeeper was now opening another bottle, and 
I knew the old sailor had drunk much. 


198 


A TWO-STRANDED YARN 


199 


“I blew in from New York around the Cape last 
week,” I said. 

‘‘Must 'a’ been blowin’ some, hey, then — kinder 
quick passage — what?” 

“Oh, I don’t mean I made the run in a week — 
we were one hundred and sixty days — but I’ve been 
here in Frisco a week. And I’ve spent all the money 
I saved from the munificent owners of the British 
ship Glenmar, who rated me as second mate at 
thirty per — or, rather, five pun ten a month. I 
tried to eat something since I came in to make up 
for what I didn’t get at sea. Those Englishmen are 
sure on short commons, all right — but I haven’t 
been drinking. I don’t drink.” 

“I do,” said Gantline. 

“I see it,” I answered; “but it don’t seem to do 
you any good, though it isn’t for me to tell you so, 
I know. A drink or two don’t hurt any one much, 
but pour it in, and come with me, and listen to my 
tale of woe. I need some one who knows some- 
thing to listen to me — I’m broke.” 

“Well, I dunno as I might jest as well,” sighed 
Gantline. “I’ll take a couple more noggins — then 
you can come down to the ship with me.” 

“Sure, that’s just what we’ll do — go down aboard 
— hurry up and poison yourself sufficiently,” I said, 
and waited until he had soaked down a few more 
drafts of liquid fire. Then, as he was growing un- 
steady, I linked his arm in my own, and we went 
slowly down Market Street until we came to the 
water front. 

“That’s her layin’ out there — Silas Tanner — four 


200 


A TWO-STRANDED YARN 


masts — or are they five? Sink me if I kin count 
'em, Clew! You count 'em for me — seems like 
there's more'n half a dozen sticks risin' outen her 
— hey? Maybe Slade's stuck more in her, thinkin' 
four ain’t enough ” 

“What? A schooner? You in a schooner — ' 
how'd you come to go in a fore-and-after, Gant- 
line? You, an old square-rigger!” 

“That’s hit, thash hit, Clew — me, an old seaman, 
in a coaster — for’n aft — Chinks for passengers — 
cabin, too — ladies aft — I’m clear drunk. Clew — an' 
I don’t care 'f 'am — nuff to make a man drunk,” 
mumbled Gantline. 

It was high time to get him to his ship. I hailed 
a small boat, and got him aboard, and then we went 
out to the Tanner — four-masted schooner, now rid- 
ing at anchor off Market Street, San Francisco, 
waiting for a tide and something I could not guess 
as yet. 

She was heavily loaded, all right, and I won- 
dered at the old man’s conduct the more. The idea 
of him forgetting himself at the last minute! It 
was too much. And with a mate like Slade — Slade, 
who had sailed in several ships with me, the best 
mate I had known for many a year. We drew 
alongside. 

“Lower down the side ladder — the skipper’s com- 
ing up,” I sang out, and a head came to the high 
rail. It was the mate’s. 

“Christopher Columbus! How’d this happen?” 
asked Slade. “And how — how’d you turn up? I’m 


A TWO-STRANDED YARN 


201 


glad to see you, old man — pass him up — look out 
he don’t fall overboard.” 

We managed to get the skipper on deck, and then 
below to his bunk, Slade questioning me all the time, 
and asking about times gone by. Then, after we 
had the old man safely stowed, we came on deck 
together, and Slade told me the trouble. 

'‘Bound out for Guam with cargo and fifty 
coolies — Chinks — for labor there. We got a pas- 
senger’s license, and take out several first class to 
Manila, besides. Loaded down with general cargo, 
and two safes full of silver for circulation at Agaha 
— about ten thousand dollars.” 

“Well, what’s the trouble?” I asked. 

“The old man don’t like the coolie idea,” Slade 
went on. “He hates Chinks. We got all loaded 
up, and then the owners sent word that we must 
provide quarters for fifty men — Chinamen, too, at 
that — and the old man threw a fit. He’d have quit 
the ship, but he’s bought into her, and can’t do it. 
We had to clear out the alleyways under the poop, 
knock ports in the sides, and build up a line of 
shelves for ’em to sleep on — twenty-five on a side, 
and right next the after saloon — couldn’t get them 
below — see the doors we cut in the bulkhead? Lets 
’em out on deck. It’s a government contract, and 
it’s good pay, all right — but them dirty coolies ! It’s 
a shame to make an old fellow like Gantline carry 
them — he hates’ em so.” 

“Who’s second under you?” I asked. 

“Nobody — thought you’d come for it. Isn’t that 

what you’re here for?” 


202 


A TWO-STRANDED YARN 


‘‘Not that I know oi” I answered. “But Til take 
it if the old man says so, all right, all right. I’ve 
been ashore long enough — broke, too.” 

“Sure thing,” said Slade. “You’re as good as 
signed on right now — soon as he gets over it he’ll 
ask you to go — never saw the old man like that be- 
fore, and it’s a pity, too. ‘Never thought I’d run 
a slaver,’ says he — and I don’t much blame him, 
either.” 

' “I’ll send down my dunnage in the morning,” I 
said. “How about the crew ?” 

“Well, we’ll get them, all right. Whisky Bill’s 
attended to it — we’ll get ten men — all we need with 
the engine for handling line.” 

I hastened ashore to settle my affairs and get my 
dunnage down to the ship. 

In payment for my last week’s board I gave my 
landlord a whale’s tooth, carved prettily — or, rather, 
I left it behind for him to accept gracefully, and 
before daylight in the morning I was aboard the 
Tanner. Gantline was so glad to see me come that 
he almost forgot his headache. I signed for the 
voyage and went on duty. 

The decks of the schooner were somewhat dis- 
ordered that morning she was to leave. Honolulu 
was her first stop, and there was much to go on 
deck for that shorter run. The crimp had just 
brought down the men, and we mates upset each 
seaman’s bag of dunnage, and scattered the con- 
tents about the gangway. We searched for hidden 
liquor and firearms, well knowing a sailor’s habits, 
and we knocked things about a little hunting for 


A TWO-STRANDED YARN 


203 


them. The poor, half-sober devils could separate 
their belongings afterward as best they might. 

The result of the search was that, after the mate 
had confiscated a few bottles of stuff and a couple 
of out-of-date revolvers and ammunition, the gen- 
eral pile divided up among the men was enough to 
refill each bag again, the effort of sorting personal 
belongings at that moment being entirely too labori- 
ous to entertain. 

Slade took two bottles, and managed to secrete 
them upon his person while the eye of the skipper 
was diverted to a passenger who had just appeared. 
Slade was slanting toward the forward cabin with 
the goods, closely followed by his emulating second 
officer, when the voice of the old man roared out 
orders for me to see to getting the baggage of the 
passengers below without delay. I turned, some- 
what disappointed, just as Slade entered the door 
of the saloon and winked slowly and meaningly 
at me. 

With some small encomiums pronounced upon 
the untimely work cut out for me, I turned to the 
gangway, and ordered up a few men in tones and 
language I should hate to repeat. 

As I did so I suddenly came face to face with the 
passenger who had come from behind a cab and 
started down the gangway plank to the ship’s deck. 
She put her lorgnette up to her eyes and gazed 
smilingly at me. Then she was joined by a younger 
woman, a girl about twenty, who took the older 
woman’s arm, led her down the plank to the deck. 


£04 


A TWO-STRANDED YARN 


and went right into the door of the forward cabin, 
leaving me staring as though I had seen a ghost. 

'‘I don’t got no good eyes, den, if dat ain’t de 
purtiest gal I ever see,” said a Dutchman who was 
waiting to hear further orders from me. Another 
man, with a loose lip, looked up and scratched his 
head. 

‘‘Get, you squareheads — get a move on before 
something happens to you,” I growled. 

“I do love to hear them swear so,” said the elder 
lady, as she reached the door. “They’re such ro- 
mantic fellows — so bold — oh, dear, just hear what 
that man ” 

“Come along, auntie, come back where the cap- 
tain is. I never heard such language before, and 
I don’t think it a bit romantic — no, not at all. It’s 
all dreadfully vulgar, and all that — but that man — 
well, well, he does say some amusing things, even 
if they are not what they should be.” 

Miss Aline MacDonald led her aunt aft, and I 
breathed easier. That she had flung me a sort of 
compliment was certain. I knew it. I had more 
queer ways of cussing out a Dutchman than any 
Yankee mate afloat — I knew that — but 

Gantline met them as they entered, and extended 
his hand.. 

“Come aft, ladies, come aft, and I’ll have the 
stewardess show you your rooms at once — hope 
they’ll suit you — best in the ship. Of course, we 
don’t compete with the steamers, but a voyage in 
this schooner will be worth two in a steamer as a 
health restorer. If things ain’t the way you like 


A TWO-STRANDED YARN 


205 


them, sing out — I’ll do the best I can.” And he led 
the way aft to where a Kanaka woman took them 
in charge. Then I ducked into the mate’s room, and 
joined Slade for a few minutes. He had already 
pulled a cork. 

‘‘Ain’t adverse none to passengers,” said he, pour- 
ing out the liquor, “but you may sink me if that 
old un don’t eome near the limit — you hear me ?” 

“Give. me a drink and shut up about passengers,” 
I grinned. “The old one’s all right. She appreci- 
ated my education — sort of goo-gooed at me while 
I was laying out some language — quick with the 
booze, before the old man gets wise to it.” 

We hurried back on deck in time to take charge 
of things, and we were soon ready and waiting for 
the coolies, who were to come aboard from the tug 
that would tow us out to sea. 

The tug Raven took our towline and we warped 
out, swung around, and were headed for the open 
sea within a few minutes. The engineer had steam 
up in the donkey, and the winches turned. Our crew 
were used to fore-and-aft canvas, and Slade took 
the turns as the halyards came to the revolving 
drums, being helped, as I may say, by his second 
mate, who held the peak as he held the throat. 

We snatched stoppers upon them as the sails came 
to the mastheads, and in less time than it takes to 
tell we had all save the headsails on the Tanner, and 
were standing out. The tug dropped back, and 
came alongside, taking her lines. 

“Stand by fer yore passengers,” bawled a red- 
headed fellow, grinning from the pilot house. 


206 


A TWO-STBANDED YARN 


I now saw a crowd of yellow-tails gathering on 
the tug’s deck. Fifty-seven of them, all told, led by 
a giant yellow man in a skullcap and long, braided 
cue. A chattering babble of Chink talk, and the 
big fellow hustled the crowd to the rail, up the 
schooner’s side, and on deck in less than a minute. 

Bundles, packages, clothes, came with them, and 
Slade gave up the premeditated job of searching 
them in a few moments as he saw the yellow men 
gather up their belongings and crowd about the 
break of the poop, jamming in a mass right under 
the edge from where Gantline leaned over and 
gazed down at them in sour amazement and dis- 
trust. 

‘‘Me makee dem tlake-a down, down,” cooed the 
giant leader in a sing-song voice, pointing with his 
hand at the crowd of Chinamen. 

“Yes, git below — git out an’ be quick about it,” 
snarled the old man from above him. “You’re 
blockin’ the decks — slam ’em in the alleyways, git 
’em out the way,” he continued to Slade and myself. 

“No lika men high, a-a-h, aye, makee down, 
down,” sang the giant, with a glint in his little slits 
of eyes. 

He was an ugly animal. Talk about your Ori- 
ental being a degenerate! Well, that fellow was 
nothing degenerate physically. He was six feet 
four, and about half as wide across the hulking 
shoulders. A thin-lipped mouth ran clear across his 
face ; his nose was flat, like an African’s. A whitish- 
blue scar had ripped his pleasing features from eye 


A TWO-STRANDED YARN 


207 


to chin on the starboard side, and his head was 
enormous. 

The hair was shaved close up to the limits of that 
skullcap of black silk, and from under its lower end 
there dropped a cue about a fathom long, all done 
up with silk cords and stuff, until a pretty little 
black tassel was plaited into the end, surmounted 
by a Matthew Walker knot and a couple of Turks’ 
heads. 

He was something to notice, all right, and his 
voice was grand. Nothing of the nervous squeak 
of the coolie about it. It sang along with flutelike 
notes that bristled full of 'T’s” and ''Ah’s,” until 
you thought he was singing it to his men in a sort 
of deep bass or baritone. 

Understand him ? Did you ever know any white 
man who could understand a Chink if that fellow 
didn’t talk for him to understand it? No, we took 
it for granted that the "boss” coolie was on the 
level, and was arguing with the herd to corral them 
into the alleyways where they belonged. He under- 
stood the skipper right enough. 

A stout yellow man edged from the press about 
the door of the forward house, and came to the big 
man’s side. A soft gabble, then a yell, then the 
herd took the alleyways on the jump, and inside of 
ten seconds there was not a yellowskin on deck. 

"Got ’em trained, all right enough,” said Slade, 
with a grin. "The old man needn’t worry about 
’em if the big one goes at it that way.” 

"Fifty-seven Chinks on a dead man’s chest — and 
I’ll bet my month’s pay they’ve a bottle of rum — 


208 


A TWO-STRANDED YARN 


maybe a hundred/' I ventured. “What’s the big 
cheese’s name?” 

“Sink me, if I know! The old man called him 
‘Yaller Dog,’ and he’s that, all solid. Let it go at 
that. I’d sure like to have him in my watch. What 
a man he’d make on a earing in a blow !” 

“Shall we deal them their rice raw or cooked ?” I 
asked. “I suppose they won’t eat it if it’s cooked 
in the galley, and then they’d be trying to build fires 
under the cabin or in the lazaret to boil it.” 

“No; let ’em eat it or throw it overboard. What 
do you care? Turn the men to, and choose the 
watch, and then I’ll go below for a rest,” 

I did so, and soon the Farallones were disappear- 
ing in the east astern. 

The first two days out there was so much to do 
aboard that I hardly had time to observe things. 
The decks were lumbered up with all kinds of gear, 
and a load of stuff for Honolulu, which took all our 
time to secure. The men were under the union 
scale of the West Coast — that is, thirty dollars per 
month — and there was nothing off on account of 
our going deep-water in her, for we were not by 
any means coasting at all, as our course lay directly 
across the Pacific Ocean, and the itinerary took in 
a voyage of seven thousand miles. 

I hated the fore-and-aft canvas. I knew its value 
on short runs and in smooth seas, but when it comes 
to deep water and a rough old ocean, with a twenty- 
five-knot wind increasing to fifty, give me the square 
canvas with double topsails, that men can handle. 

However, we were very fast. The Tanner could 


A rWO-STRANDED YARN 


209 


do fifteen knots free on a wind that would jam a 
square-rigger close and by. Her four masts were 
of the usual type, all the same, and her gaff-topsails 
were high on the hoist, giving her a tall appearance. 

The first day under all sail, with the wind abeam, 
she rolled off thirteen and fourteen knots an hour, 
and kept her decks awash under a perfect torrent of 
foam, dragging her rail through a solid mass of 
suds. She simply ran, shoved her sharp nose out 
through it, and slipped over the long, smooth, roll- 
ing swell with a plunging lift that felt good. 

The steam winches for handling line were good. 
With drums turning, all one had to do was to snatch 
the halyard in the deck block, grab a turn on the 
drum, and up went anything that could go. Then 
a stopper on the line, and to the belaying pin — and 
all was done. There was no hee-hawing, no singing 
of sailor’s chanteys, no sailoring of the type we had 
known in our earlier days; but I am free to admit 
that I would rather have had the steam winches — 
especially when it came on to blow and we had to 
reef her down. 

The Chinks were allowed on deck from eight bells 
in the morning until eight at night ; and they were 
always getting in the way. 

Miss MacDonald and her aunt came on deck most 
of the time, and sat wrapped in rugs near the wheel, 
where the old man entertained them with tales of 
the sea. They were greatly interested in the China- 
men. 

I found my watch on the poop not at all dis- 
agreeable during daylight, for Miss Aline was good 


210 


A TWO-STRANDED YARN 


to look at. She was of medium height, with brown 
hair that curled in spite of the sea wind, and she 
was solidly and strongly built, her figure having 
lines that told of sturdiness rather than delicate 
beauty. But although she was not what one would 
call fat, or even stout, she was certainly not thin, 
and her rounded face was rosy with health. 

Her mouth had a peculiar gentleness of expres- 
sion, and when she showed her white teeth to me 
and flushed a bit upon recognizing the master 
handler of fluent oaths, I thought her about as good 
as they come. I was a bit embarrassed, but I was 
only second greaser, and as such could not sit at 
the table with her, so I said little. 

I told Slade, however, that his hands were unfit 
to pass salt junk to a lady — and, for a wonder, he 
washed them in fresh water before going below! 
He was mate, and could sit in with the skipper, 
while I walked the deck above and made mental 
comments upon the irony of fate that shoved in a 
fellow like him to entertain a girl that he could 
not speak to without stammering like a drunken 
man, while I 

It was in my watch during dinner that I had the 
first real chance to see our coolie boss. The second 
week, after things had settled themselves, and the 
routine of the ship took the place of the frantic 
scramble to get things shipshape, I stood at the 
break of the poop, which in the Tanner was very 
low — not more than four feet above the deck, as is 
the case in many schooners — and as I stood there 
up popped Yellow Dog, the giant Chink, from the 


A TWO-STRANDED YARN 


door of the alleyway to starboard. The beggar was 
so tall that he was almost on a level with myself, in 
spite of the difference in the decks, and I found his 
eyes close to mine as he turned and saw me. 

“Have any trouble in the passageway?’' I asked 
him, thinking he might have been a bit mixed in 
straightening out that gang below in the narrow 
space. 

He gave me a look, a slanting glance from the 
corners of his little, screwed-up eyes, and then he 
turned his back upon me as if I had been bilge 
water, and offended his senses. 

“Hey, Yellow Dog! What’s the matter with 
you ? Are you tongue-tied ? Don’t you know 
enough of ship’s etiquette to answer an officer when 
he speaks ?” I spat at him. 

“I tlakee captain man — not you,” he sang, in his. 
musical voice, and he forthwith strode to the galley,, 
where a Kanaka cook was busy with the dinner. 

“You great big Yellow ” But there is no 

use of telling what I remarked to him as he went 
along that deck. As the officer in command at the 
moment, I was not a little offended by this high- 
handed way of a common Chink, more especially as 
I was inquiring for the welfare of his men. 

The cook heard my note of temper, and refused 
the giant admittance to his galley’s sacred precincts, 
whereupon Yellow Dog seized him by the scruff of 
the neck, and tossed him into the lee scuppers. He 
was about to pitch a pot of hot water on top of 
him, but I interposed an objection to this action in 
the shape of a belaying pin which, flung by my right 


A TWO-STRANDED YARN 


arm under full swing, struck Yellow Dog fairly 
upon the skull-cap, and, bounding off, flew over- 
board. 

The giant staggered, caught himself from falling, 
then he stood very straight, and gave me a look 
that for cold fury expressed more than I had ever 
dreamed possible in a Chink. 

“Killee you fo’ that,” he hissed. 

‘‘Go on, do your killing. Yellow Dog,” I snapped. 
‘‘But take care you don’t get something yourself — 
and the next time I speak to you aboard here, if you 
don’t answer at once you’ll find something else 
bounding off your dome that you’ll remember for 
a long time. Now send your mess kids to that gal- 
ley, and the cook will hand you out your rice and 
long-lick.” 

The men of my watch stopped work where they 
were, and grinned at the big Chinaman. Their con- 
tempt for the race was more than my own, and I 
knew I had the hearty approval of the sailors. A^t 
the same time I was sorry that the thing had hap- 
pened, for the Chinamen who were already on deck 
passed the word along, and by the time I had fin- 
ished talking the whole gang of them were stand- 
ing about, with looks upon their faces that told 
of trouble. 

It was a bad beginning for a long voyage. 

Gantline came on deck as soon as he could finish 
his dinner, and wanted to know what the trouble 
was about, but that was all he said. He found 
no fault with my remarks nor with my actions. A 


A TWO-STRANDED YARN 


21S 


ship’s officer must maintain discipline, and disci- 
pline cannot be maintained without respect. 

Miss MacDonald came up with her aunt, and I 
went below to my dinner. As I passed the door of 
the forward house leading into the cabin, the stout 
Chink who seemed to be a close chum of the big 
leader glared at me. He had a sinister face, with 
little slits of eyes that looked slantwise, like the eyes 
of a wolf. 

His moustaches were thin and straight along his 
lip, until they reached the corners of his wide mouth, 
then they suddenly dropped straight down, and hung 
like the tusks of a walrus, two thin, black points of 
hair about six inches long. They gave him the ap- 
pearance of some carnivorous animal, fierce, satur- 
nine and dangerous. 

Instead of slamming him for his insolence, I pre- 
tended not to see him, and passed in, yet the look 
stayed with me, and I remembered it at intervals. 
He was a wolf, all right, a human wolf — but I was 
to find that out later. 

^What do you think of our passengers — the 
coolies?” I asked Jack, the steward, who sat at my 
mess next the carpenter, Oleson. 

‘‘Watch them, Mr. Garnett, watch them,”' he 
warned. “I’ve seen some mighty bad Chinks leav- 
ing the coast lately. These men belong to tongs — 
hatchet men — and if you’ll take my word for it you 
will find plenty of long, black-barreled guns tucked 
somewhere in their dunnage. But the hatchet is. 
their game for those they have a grudge against — 
hatchets don’t make a noise at night.” 


^14 


A TWO-STRANDED YARN 


“They won’t get about the decks in my watch, to 
use any hatchets, or guns, either, for that matter,” 
I answered. “I’ll tuck them in snug to bed at eight 
bells.” 

“Hatchet’s a bad thing at night,” put in Oleson. 
“I’ll put a heavy staple on their door after they 
turn in.” 

In my watch below I read ancient magazines* until 
I fell asleep. In my dreams I saw that stout China- 
man’s face with the pointed whiskers and slant eyes 
peering down over me. In his hand was a little, 
thin-bladed hatchet, like a tomahawk, and as I 
reached up for him I awoke with a start, shivering 
in spite of the heat. 

The door of my cabin was closed, and my win- 
dow, or port, was but half open, sliding as it did 
upon sills about five feet above the main deck. 

A shadow passed even as I looked up, but when 
I sprang out of my bunk and slammed the glass 
open, there was nothing near The opening. 

Just twenty or thirty feet distant forward two of 
the crew were working on some gear, and the light 
was still strong enough to recognize them as Jim 
and Bill, of Slade’s watch. Then the bells of the 
dogwatch struck, and I went on deck, swearing at 
myself for a nervous fool. 

I refused to take a gun which hung over my bunk, 
hating the idea of doing such a thing, for guns al- 
ways spelled trouble in all ships I had ever been in, 
and I hated the idea of using one. I went on the 
poop, and Miss MacDonald was sitting there with 
her aunt, chatting with the old man. 


A TWO-STRANDED YARN 


215 


“Keep her steady as she goes — sou’west half 
west,” said Gantline, as I came up. 

“Aye, aye, sir,” I answered, and was about to go 
aft to the wheel, when the young lady spoke to me. 

“I have just asked the captain to allow me to read 
a chapter from the Bible to those Chinamen,” she 
said, “and, if you will assist me, we will gather 
them close together on the deck there” — pointing to 
the main deck. “I can stand upon the edge and 
see them better. You don’t know whether they can 
speak or understand English, do you ?” 

“I think they understand me at times,” I ven- 
tured, “but I’m a bit doubtful about the kind of talk 
you will toss them.” 

“Toss them? What do you mean?” she asked. 

“Why, I mean — well, they understand the kind 
of English we use at times — I don’t know how to 
explain — it isn’t a written language ” 

“I should sincerely hope not,” said Miss Mac- 
Donald meaningly. 

“Yes, but, my dear, it is so expressive — I heard 
you talking to them during dinner to-day,” inter- 
rupted her aunt. 

I blushed a little. “Well, then, that’s what I 
mean,” I said. “I don’t want to say that I think 
you are wasting time reading to them — you know 
they have a religion of their own — one that ante- 
dates ours — they won’t take it right.” 

“That’s a question we won’t discuss at present,” 
said Miss MacDonald. “There are many Chris- 
tianized Chinamen at home, and they seem to ap- 
preciate it very much.” 


S16 


A TWO-STRANDED YARN 


‘‘Always, if there’s a pretty woman to teach 
them,” I snapped. 

There was a silence after this. I had been rude, 
I suppose, but I was only telling the truth. I went 
to the break, or edge, of the schooner’s poop, and 
called the watch, which had been mustering on deck. 

‘‘Get the coolies aft to the mast,” I ordered. 

The men passed the word along, and two or three 
Chinks who understood English as well as I did 
came slouching aft. Gradually about two dozen 
stood or congregated near enough to hear, but Yel- 
low Dog and his slant-eyed chum of the walrus 
mustaches seemed to decline the invitation. 

“Couldn’t you get the large man, their leader, to 
come also?” asked the lady. 

“Not without dragging him lashed fast,” I pro- 
tested. 

“Very well,” she said, with just a bit of temper 
in her voice. 

Gantline had gone below, and I was in charge of 
the deck until supper was over. The reading would 
not take long, and the steward was already bring- 
ing the cabin mess aft along the gangway. The 
young lady read calmly, and with a peculiarly sweet 
voice, that attracted the attention of the men, but 
not of the coolies. 

The Chinks stood about, and some gazed out over 
the sea, some grinned openly up at her, with a smile 
that told of tolerance for an imbecile. Miss Mac- 
Donald, senior, went below to prepare for supper. 

Before the girl had finished. Yellow Dog came 
aft, and gazed at her in open admiration. He made 


A TWO-STRANDED YARN 


21T 


some remark to his .stout friend, and they both 
smiled sardonically, but their attitude was not par- 
ticularly offensive. 

I found some business at the spanker sheet, and 
when I came forward to where the girl stood, she 
was finishing. 

‘There is only one way to treat heathen, Mr. Gar- 
nett,’' she said, “and that is to be always kind, uni- 
versally even-tempered, and gentle with them. They 
have had a hard road for many generations, and 
take to kindness, as all lower creatures do. They 
will only get stubborn if you use hard words and 
roughness. I know something about their habits, 
for I’ve taught the school at home, where we had 
twenty pupils, all grown men.” 

At this I protested. I confess I was hot. 

“If you are kind to them they will think you’re 
afraid of them,” I declared. “If you mule-lick 
them, hog-strap them, and generally beat the devil 
out of them, they’ll do as you tell them — not other- 
wise. Fm not running a school aboard here, if you 
please, and while I will give you any assistance you 
want or can get, I go on the log right now that as 
far as we handle these men, we must beat th^m and 
lick them into submission. There’s no other way at 
sea. It’s brutal, but the other way will turn out 
more brutal. I’m not responsible for them being in 
this ship — but I’ll see they get to their port of dis- 
charge, all right, if I have to flay them alive!” 

“I think you are perfectly horrible — perfectly 
brutal to say such things,” said Miss MacDonald. 


S18 


A TWO-STRANDED YARN 


"‘Are all seamen brutes? Does the captain stand 
for such things aboard here ?” 

“There is only one way to do with cattle of this 
sort,” I insisted. “I don’t want the job — I’d rather 
run in a bunch of snakes. But a ship’s bound to be 
run the way ships are run. There isn’t any new 
way to run a ship, believe me. It’s all been tried 
out hundreds of years before you were born. Per- 
haps some day, when we don’t need ships, the 
brotherly-love racket will work all right; but not 
these days.” 

“I don’t believe it, anyhow,” said the lady, “and 
I’m amazed that a man of apparent intelligence 
should say such things. You should do unto others 
as you would have them do unto you — always.” 

“Quite so,” I assented, somewhat nettled at the 
idea that a young lady should give me points on 
running a ship. “I always do, always do unto the 
crew or those coolies the same as I would expect 
them' to do to me — if I was the same kind of rascal 
they are — and if our places were exchanged. There 
can be only one man in charge of the deck, 
the watch officer, and he’s responsible for every- 
thing that happens. And if I would be so bold as 
to give you a bit of advice, I should say to you, for 
God’s sake don’t try any foolishness on those yel- 
low-skins while they are under my charge. It’ll 
only make trouble, and there’ll be enough of that, 
anyhow, by the way things look.” 

^‘What do you mean?” asked Miss Aline. 

“I mean that Yellow Dog, as the skipper calls him, 
that big Chink, is not liking ship’s discipline already. 


A TWO-STRANDED YARN 


219 


If you will go near the door of the alleyway when 
they open it you will smell the fumes of opium 
strong enough to knock you down. They don’t pre- 
tend to obey orders, and the company makes us 
carry them and take care of them like they were 
babies. We can’t even search them or offer any 
kind of protest — they’d refuse to come if the con- 
tract was not drawn that way.” 

''Well, be kind to them, be always lenient with 
them,” said Miss Aline, in a tone so different, so 
pleading that I gave up. "Don’t yell at them like 
I heard you to-day. It isn’t dignified, it isn’t right 
— you will be good to them, now, won’t you? — just 
try it and see if it don’t work.” 

"Ho, well. I’ll try to do the best I can, of course,” 
I answered, thinking of the stout pirate with the 
hangers. "Yes, I’ll try to be just as kind as I pos- 
sibly can — of course. I’ll promise you that — that’s 
the skipper’s orders, you know.” 

The steward had already brought the mess things 
for the cabin, and the lady went below to join her 
aunt and the old man — and Slade. The mate was 
not standing for my line of talk, as I could see by 
the way Miss Aline spoke, and it made me warm to 
think that a mate of Slade’s attainments should be 
so mushy as to snicker and grin when I told him 
how things stood. 

" 'Keep solid with the passengers’ — that’s one of 
the old rules in the express steamers, you know — 
'keep right with the ladies,’ ” he said, grinning at 
me when I mentioned the missionary work the 
young lady had undertaken. "And, by the way, 


220 


A TWO-STRANDED YARN 


lend me a couple of your clean collars — you won’t 
need them right away, and I do.” 

‘‘I’ll do nothing of the kind,” I answered shortly. 

“Oh, don’t get rattled because I’ve got the inside 
route. Don’t be mad, old man, because I’ve gained 
the weather of you. All’s fair in the game. And 
between you and me, if the Chink gets gay with you, 
bang him on the nut for fair, and I’ll slip in with 
you — if it’s dark. But you don’t want to queer me 
below. Now, be sane, and come across with those 
collars. I’m young and single — and mate, see?” 

“Go to the devil !” I answered, but I knew Slade 
would go to my room, instead, and nail those white- 
laundered collars I had kept clean. 

That night, when I turned in, I found that, in- 
deed, Slade had been below, and had rummaged my 
things about most unkindly, taking my linen. I 
turned in with a feeling of resentment at his luck 
in position, but I dismissed the feeling quickly as the 
absurdity of the affair dawned upon me, for, after 
all, I was not thinking of women at all, and had 
no right to under the present high salary I was 
drawing. 

Rolling into my bunk, I was instantly asleep. In 
my dreams I saw that walrus-looking Chink. His 
long black feelers hung down over me, the points 
piercing my vitals like tusks. I gave a yell and 
awoke ! 

The lamp was burning dimly, as it always did in 
my room at night, ready for the sudden call to the 
deck, and I could see everything distinctly the mo- 
ment I opened my eyes. A face was just leaving 


A TWO-STRANDED YARN 


221 


the glass of my window. I sprang out of the bunk, 
and peered out through the glass. At that instant 
there was a heavy rat-tat-tat upon the door, and the 
voice of Jim Douglas, of Slade’s watch, called to 
me that it was eight bells, and time to turn out. I 
threw open the door. 

“Did you look in through my window?” I asked 
him. 

“No, sir; I wouldn’t do anything like that, sir,” 
said the seaman. 

He was a good-looking young Scotchman of 
twenty-four, tall and strong, with an honest face. 
I knew he was telling the truth. 

“That’s all,” I said, and he went on his way. 

I looked at the gun that hung over my shelf at 
the bunk head. It was one I took off a dago named 
Louis, of my watch, and it was a heavy gun, forty- 
five caliber, and long in the barrel. 

“Perfectly absurd to think of it,” I muttered to 
myself. I pulled on my coat, and started for the 
deck, when something, some instinct, told me to take 
the weapon. 

“Sentiment be hanged!” I said out loud, and 
tucked the revolver in a rear pocket. Then I made 
the deck, and found Slade standing at the mizzen 
waiting for me. 

“We’ll raise the land before morning,” said he. 
“She’s been running like a scared rat all night. 
Keep a lookout, and when you sight anything sing 
out to the old man — he’ll be on deck probably, but 
he’s been acting queer lately, and you better watch 


222 


A TWO-STRANDED YARN 


him. We’ll heave her to for a pilot, and you know 
the rest.” 

'‘All right,” I answered. 

The soft, damp air of the trade wind made the 
decks soaking wet. The low hum through the rig- 
ring added to the murmuring of the side wash. The 
creaking of sheet blocks and slight straining of the 
gear were the only noises that broke the stillness 
of the peaceful night. The schooner was running 
along rapidly, heeling gently to the wind, and every- 
thing drawing. The rolling motion was slight, for 
the wind was strong enough to hold her steady. 

The voices of the watch forward sounded above 
the murmuring, and I could see the glow of a pipe 
belonging to some one who disregarded the ship’s 
discipline sufficiently to smoke while on duty. I 
took my place at the mizzen rigging to con the 
vessel, and stood there silently for a long time 
watching the foam rushing past her, now and then 
gazing far ahead to see if I could raise the lights 
of Pearl Harbor. The wind was almost astern, and 
the headsails were consequently not doing much 
work. I listened to the slatting, and then sang out : 

“Haul down the jib topsail and roll it up.” 

“Aye, aye, sir,” came the response, and the men 
went to the forecastle head. 

Aft at the wheel the shadow of a man holding 
the spokes was the only sign of life on deck. I 
took my place again at the weather rigging, and 
waited for the report from forward. 

A heavier swell than usual rolled the schooner, 
and I turned to look aft. At that instant something 


A TWO-STRANDED YARN 




whizzed past my ear, and struck with a chugging 
sound into the backstay. My ear stung sharply, and 
something warm ran down my neck. I saw a form 
vanish behind the mast, and called out. 

I knew I had been struck, and drew my gun, 
springing toward the figure, which dashed silently 
across the deck as I gained the mast. I fired at 
it without hesitation, and the fellow let out a scream, 
gained the rail, and plunged over the side. 

I was at the rail in an instant, but saw nothing 
in the foam. A moment’s silence followed, and then 
a sound of steps and a rising murmur of voices told 
me of the alarm. 

Gantline was on deck in less time than it takes 
to tell it, and he roared out : '‘What’s the matter ?” 

Slade sprang from the door of the forward cabin, 
calling out that he was coming. Men from for- 
ward rushed aft. Then, from out of the doors of 
the alleyways, a stream of figures poured forth, 
flowing like a black tide onto the main deck. A 
sudden roar of voices followed, and I recognized 
the high-pitched tones of our coolies. 

"All hands — help! All hands aft — quick!” I 
yelled, and fired into the black figures who swarmed 
up the poop and crowded upon me. 

As I fired, I heard the shrill screams of the elder 
Miss MacDonald, and then there was indiscriminate 
firing. I yelled to Slade, and he answered once. 
The crowd surged over me, and I was down, with 
a dozen panting heathens on top of me. In a minute 
it was all over. Some one passed a line about my 
arms. and. kick as I mieht. thev soon had me snue 


A TWO-STRANDED YARN 


224 

and fast. Gantline roared out orders from the 
wheel, and I heard the crack of a pistol at rapid in- 
tervals. Then a roaring,, surging mob rolled over 
him — and there was the schooner luffing to under 
full sail, her head sheets thrashing and the canvas 
thundering in the stiff breeze. 

They had taken her. We were overpowered, all 
right. The men forward stood it out but a moment 
longer, and surrendered. 

When I could see again I noticed the giant form 
of Yellow Dog standing near the wheel, and two of 
his men at the wheel spokes. He sang out orders 
in his musical bass voice, and the sheets were quickly 
trimmed in. The schooner now headed well up with 
the wind abeam, and pointed away across the Pa- 
cific, far to the northward of Hawaii. Yellow Dog 
had taken her easily. 

I was hauled below, and tossed into the forward 
cabin. Here I found Slade lashed fast, like myself. 
He was hurt by a bullet that had torn his thigh, 
and was bleeding. Upon a transom lay Gantline, 
trussed from head to foot in line, and the old skip- 
per was swearing fiercely at the ill fortune that had 
overtaken his ship. 

I noticed a few Chinks standing near the door of 
the after cabin, and they looked at us casually, seem- 
ing to regard us not at all. Then I heard the soft 
voice of Miss Aline pleading with Yellow Dog. But 
of course she might have pleaded with the sea with 
as much effect. Then the sounds died away, and we 
lay there, waiting for daylight and what might 
follow. 


A TWO-STRANDED YARN 


225 


Daylight came, and the schooner still held her 
way under all sail except the jib topsail that I had 
hauled down before the fracas. She now lay at a 
sharp angle, and felt the trade wind upon her star- 
board beam. 

Yellow Dog came into the forward cabin. He 
stopped a moment near me, then kicked me savagely, 
muttering strange sounds in his own language. I 
told him fluently in good seaman’s English just what 
I thought of him, and if he did not understand me 
he was something dense, for Fve had every kind of 
human under the sun on my ship’s deck, and I have 
so far failed to notice any who could not understand 
me when I let off a few pieces of literature or 
oratory. 

Yellow Dog seemed rather pleased than other- 
wise, for he called his man, the walrus-mustached 
one, and grinned while they held a confab. I took 
it that something choice would be handed me within 
a very short time. 

When I had a chance to ask the skipper, he told 
us we were within forty miles of Pearl Harbor. 
From the way we nosed into the breeze, the 
schooner was now heading northwest across the 
ocean, giving the harbor a wide berth. 

‘‘What’ll they do ?” I asked him. 

“Sink her, with us aboard — take the ten thou- 
sand dollars in the safe, and make a get-away with 
it. They’ll turn up ashore in some deserted place, 
and that’ll be about all. Then they’ll divide the 
swag, separate, and Yellow Dog will go his way — 
probably back to China. It’s not much money when 


£26 


A TWO-STRANDED YARN 


you think of it for a white man, but it’s a whole 
heap for a Chink.” 

After the day had well advanced we heard noises 
on deck. The foresail was lowered, or, rather, let 
go by the run, the noise of tearing gear sounding 
plainly. Topsails, staysails, and everything forward 
except the jib were cut away. Then the spanker 
was lowered, and left threshing about, half up, with 
the sheet hauled amidships. The jib was hauled 
to the mast, and the schooner lay hove to in the 
trade swell, riding easily upon the sea, and remain- 
ing very steady. 

We heard them getting out the boats, and there 
was much noise from aft where the safe was fast 
to the deck in the captain’s cabin. Finally a terrific 
explosion took place there, and after that the noises 
died away. 

“Bl-ew it,” said Slade. 

A smell of smoke now began to be apparently in 
the confined air of the cabin. 

**Good Lord ! Are they going to fire us ?” asked 
the mate. 

'‘Safest way, I suppose. Knock a hole in her 
bottom first, set her on fire, and then get out,” I 
said. 

"But the girl?” asked Slade. 

"Oh, Yellow Dog will take care of her — prob- 
ably take her along with him in the boats.” 

"Not if I know it. Man, do you know what that 
means?” he panted, straining at his wrist lashings. 

"Well, it’s a mighty bad outlook, but if you can 
5top it, sing out ; I’ll help,” I said. 


A TWO-STRANDED YARN 


227 


The smoke grew more dense in the confined 
space. The noise of hoisting gear died away, and 
the shouts of men from a distance told that they 
already had the small boats over, and were along- 
side. 

Slade strained away at his lines, and I did, also, 
but we were fast. Gantline muttered on the tran- 
som, and began to choke with the smoke. Suddenly 
a form burst into the room. It was Oleson, the 
carpenter. He slashed at our lashings with a heavy 
knife, and in a moment we were free. 

We dragged ourselves out on deck, crawling to 
keep below the rail, so that we could not be seen 
from the small boats. Two forms lay right in front 
of a door — two of our men who had been killed. 
Not a sign of a wounded Chink, or dead one, either. 
They had taken them along if there were any. 

'T cut loose,” said Oleson; “rubbed the lash- 
ings on a broken bottle they left on deck near me. 
They’ve knocked a few holes in her, and it’s up to 
us to stop them up before the schooner sinks. She’s 
on fire forward — whole barrel of oil poured over 
her decks and lit up before ” 

“Looks like they have her either way, then,” said 
Gantline. “But we’ll try the fire first, and take a 
thance at her settling under us.” 

I peeped over the rail and saw the boats — three 
of them — about a mile distant. Then Slade and 1 
ran below aft. The two passengers had apparently 
gone with them, and the cabin was empty. Gant- 
line, with Oleson and six men left alive aboard, 
fought the fire, and we joined them. 


^^8 A TWO-STRANDED YARN 

Half an hour’s work and we had the fire out, but 
it had played the mischief with the running gear, 
having burned up plenty of line that lay on the 
deck. Oleson and Slade went below forward, while 
Gantline and I went after to find where they had 
knocked holes in her bottom. 

The sound of rushing water told us the position 
of the leak almost before we reached the lower 
deck. They had not done much of a job, having cut 
squarely into her just below the water line, trusting 
to the fire to finish their work for them. 

Calling all hands, we jammed a mattress into the 
hole, and then passed a tarpaulin down on the out- 
side. Oleson spiked planks over the wad, ahd we 
had a fair stopper on the place. Then we set to 
work to get the canvas on her. 

Yellow Dog, finding that the schooner was not 
burning quickly, put back in his boat to see what 
the trouble was. We were then at the gear, and he 
soon saw us. His men sent the boat along with a 
will, and they drew close aboard in a few minutes. 

We were now without arms, and he seemed to be 
satisfied that he would get us without trouble. It 
was blowing fresh, and the schooner was drifting 
bodily to leeward. 

We crammed the oil-soaked stuff from her decks 
into the donkey boiler, and as the fire was already 
burning, and steam was almost up, we waited, while 
some of us hoisted the headsails and swung her 
head off before the wind. The mizzen was swayed 
up, and in a few minutes the schooner was under 


A TWO-STRANDED YARN 


229 


good headway, sliding along at four or five knots, 
and keeping the boat at. a distance. 

^^Now, then, my hearty, we’ll soon fix you,” said 
Gantline. 

Between moments of desperate work we had a 
chance to see that the other boats were also com- 
ing back after us. At the present rate we were 
holding our own, and Yellow Dog stood no chance 
to catch us, but he kept on, and managed to get 
within a couple of hundred yards. 

From here he opened fire upon us with the heavy 
six-shooters, and we heard the spat of the lead in 
the canvas, but for ourselves we kept below the rail, 
and the power of a revolver was not enough to 
bother us exceedingly., 

Soon Oleson announced that we could put the 
halyards to the winches, and we sent the foresail 
and mainsail up in no time. Then we set the 
spanker and had all the lower canvas on her. 

The schooner lay well over under the pressure, 
and we sent her along a good ten knots, while we 
cleared up the gear and made things shipshape. The 
boats were soon black specks in the sunshine. 

“Now, then, let’s get to work on that yellow boy 
right,” said the old man. 

“No, don’t let him get too far away from us,” 
said Slade. “The two ladies are in that boat with 
the big Chink, and we better attend to it first.” 

We hauled our wind and began reaching back, 
the boat with Yellow Dog being kept right under the 
jibboom end. 


S30 


A TWO-STRANDED YARN 


‘‘I reckon I’ll take the wheel and you go forward, 
Mr. Garnett,” said Gantline. 

“Will you run him down?” I asked. 

“Without any mistake at all — if you’ll give me 
the course right when he gets in close,” said the 
captain. 

“But the ladies, the passengers ?” said Slade. 

“We’ll do the best we can for them — just as well 
to get killed that way as to get away with those 
fellows, isn’t it?” 

The men took to the idea at once, and we grouped 
close under the shelter of the windlass, watching 
the schooner run. She was going a full ten, and 
rising and falling with a rhythmic motion, her side, 
where the patch was, being almost clear of the sea. 

Yellow Dog saw us, and knew what we intended 
to do. He swung his boat around and pulled dead 
into the wind’s eye, knowing that if we missed 
him we would not get a chance to strike again until 
we beat well up to windward of him. He would 
make it warm on deck as we came close, and Gant- 
line took the precaution to place a few boards 
against the binnacle, so that he could crouch behind 
them when the firing began. I was to wave my 
hand which way he should steer, and he was to keep 
me in sight readily. 

We drew rapidly up to the boat. Yellow Dog 
stood up in the stern, and held a long, black-bar- 
reled revolver in his hand. 

We crouched lower, and the schooner bore down 
upon the boat. I waved my hand to starboard, and 
Gantline gave her a few spokes. Yellow Dog 


A TWO-STRANDED YARN 


231 


backed water, and the boat would have gone clear 
of the cutwater, but at that instant a heavier puff 
of wind heeled the schooner over, and she luffed to 
a trifle, her cutwater rising upon a swell. 

Then, with the downward plunge, she shored 
through the small boat, striking it fairly amidships. 

I was so taken up with the affair that I poked 
my head too far over the rail, and a bullet ripped 
my cheek open, knocking me head over heels with 
the shock. 

I scrambled to my feet, furious with the pain and 
excitement. The fragments of the small boat drifted 
alongside, the after part going to leeward, and drag- 
ging along the channels. I saw Slade spring upon 
the rail for an instant, and then plunge overboard. 

Holding my bleeding face with one hand, I ran 
to the forechannels, and saw Yellow Dog grasp the 
chains as they washed past. He had a mighty grip, 
and that hand hold of his was a wonder. He drew 
himself into the chains, and, without waiting, clam- 
bered up and over the rail, springing to the deck 
right in front of me as I backed away. 

Oleson saw him coming, and so did a seaman 
named Wales. The three of us closed on him, and 
dragged him down, and we rolled in the lee scuppers, 
a fighting, snarling pile of humanity, while Gantline 
let the wheel go, and ran to help us. 

Yellow Dog tossed the three of us off with the 
ease of a man throwing aside children, and would 
have taken charge in another moment, but Gantline, 
running up behind him with a handspike, swung the 
bar down with full force upon that little skullcap, 


23S 


A TWO-STRANDED YARN 


and the giant Chink stretched out harmless. We 
had him trussed before the schooner had stopped 
her headway into the breeze. 

Then we ran to the side, and looked for Slade. 
He was swimming easily about a hundred yards 
astern, holding the form of Miss Aline with one 
hand, and keeping her head clear of the water. All 
about were the forms of swimming Chinamen. 

Quickly backing the headsails, we sent the 
schooner astern, drifting down upon the mate. I 
made a line fast to a life buoy, and flung it far out. 
After what seemed a long time, we finally had the 
mate fast to it, and were hauling him in. Soon he 
was taken aboard, and Miss MacDonald was car- 
ried below. Then we went to work trying to pick 
up the Chinks. 

Many of these refused to come aboard, preferring 
to die in the sea. Some we caught and dragged up 
forcibly. We caught most of them, and then hauled 
our wind for the two boats that were now almost 
out of sight. 

Within a couple of hours we had the first along- 
side, and she surrendered. In it was Miss Aline’s 
aunt, and she was passed below insensible. The 
other boat took longer to get, but we finally got her 
alongside, and the men out of her. Forty-seven 
Chinks stood the muster. We had lost ten of them 
and two of our men in the fracas. Miss MacDon- 
ald came out of her faint, and from her room, 
where she had locked herself. She fell into the 
arms of her niece. 

“Oh, the brave men, those romantic sailors, those 


A TWO-STRANDED YARN 


23S 


heroes !’’ she cried, in an ecstasy of joy, and she 
gave me a look worth millions. 

‘‘Hush!” said Miss Aline. “Perhaps if those 
heroes had been a little more gentle there would 
have been no trouble — but I am glad we are saved. 
Mr. Slade risked his life for me.” 

The Kanaka cook crawled from the lower hold, 
where he had hidden at the first outcry, and the 
stewardess came from the lazaret. We came into 
Honolulu that evening with the police flag flying, 
and turned the big Chink over to the authorities for 
treatment. His lieutenant of the walrus mustaches 
was missing. 

Miss Aline came on deck to look around. She 
saw Slade, and went to him. What she said to him 
was none of my business, but Slade was a good 
man and a good mate. Afterward she came to the 
mizzen where I stood like a bandaged soldier. 

“I suppose you’ll not make the rest of the voyage 
with us?” I asked. 

“Why not ?” she asked. 

“Oh — er — I don’t know ; maybe you don’t care so 
much for the heathen. Brotherly love and kindness 
— fine theory, all right, but we’re not just ready to 
put it in practice — williitg to wait, you know, until 
it comes our way — perhaps a bit afraid ” 

“You are very much mistaken, sir,” she broke in. 
“You will find out your error, too, I think, before 
we get through. I am firmly convinced that your 
own actions with that poor heathen are as much at 
fault as his, and that if you had not treated him 
so roughly he would never have done what he did.” 


234) 


A TWO-STRANDED YARN 


I grinned. I couldn’t help it. Slade was wink- 
ing at me from the door of the forward house. Oh, 
well, here was a good woman gone wrong in her 
theories, and I would not be insolent enough to dis- 
agree with her. I let it go at that. I was willing 
to wait until she had finished the voyage — for 
Slade’s sake. He was a sly dog, that Slade. 

We found about two thousand dollars of the 
money taken among the men captured. The rest 
was a total loss, and Gantline bemoaned his fate, as 
it fell upon him to a certain extent. 

We cleared, leaving the big Chinaman to stand 
trial with two others as accessories, and the police 
absolved me absolutely from all blame in the matter. 


PART II 

‘^No loafing around the ship,” I called to the 
little yellow chap who was sitting near the spring 
line which held the schooner Tanner to the wharf 
at Honolulu. The man paid not the slightest at- 
tention to me. 

‘‘Hey, there, sonny ! Move out ! Beat it ; make a 
getaway, you savvy?” I bawled in a louder tone. 

Then he arose, and instead of a young fellow I 
.was amazed to find him at least ten years older 
than myself — and I had been a ship’s officer some 
years. He walked slowly to the vessel’s side, and 
gazed up at me where I stood near the break of the 
poop, holding to a backstay. 


A TWO-STRANDED YARN 


2S5 


She was a modern, short-poop schooner. The 
sallow little man was not a Chinaman, nor of Kan- 
aka breed, but a full-blooded Japanese. He was 
stout, strong, yellow of skin, and his black hair 
was too long for his country’s custom, sticking out 
from under the rim of a brown derby that had 
seen its best days. His eyes were slitlike, keen 
little eyes, but there was nothing repulsive in them. 
They attracted me. For one thing, he had an open 
frankness, an honest and fearless look, and his face 
was sad. 

‘'What you doin’ on the dock, Togi?” I asked, 
eying him humorously. 

“If your august presence will listen. I’ll tell you,” 
he answered easily. 

“Sure, Michael, let her go, and don’t mind my 
gigantic — er — august self,” I sniggered. 

“In the first place,” he said, “I’m not sonny, be- 
ing, if your honorable temper allows, a man of 
forty. If fine schooner says so, I go with you as 
far as Tokyo. There I am the humble cousin of 
the Honorable Baron Komuri, son of a Samurai, 
under the former emperor. I should like indeed to 

sail with you, and will ” Here he stopped a 

moment, hesitating. 

“Go on, king, old man; don’t let anything stop 
you from telling your yarn. Sing it out, and I’ll 
listen if it breaks a bone.” 

“No, no; not king, old man; just Mister Ko- 
muri — if your presence allows me to correct. Your 
humble servant is but a plain man. Better be plain 
man than dead lion, as your excellent books say. 


236 


A TWO-STRANDED YARN 


I accept plain man, and go that way if so ship 
says.” 

‘We are not going to Tokyo, but if you see the 
skipper he’ll take you clear to Manila for a hundred 
or two yen. You savvy him yen. Must pay, you 
know.” 

“Ah, that is of what I wish to tell your honorable 
self. Allow me to make myself so humble to tell 
I have not the yen you ask. I have not anything 



“Nothing doing, kiddo; on your way,” I said 
remorselessly. 

“But I sit on dock end waiting •” 

“Waiting for what?” 

“Waiting for two hundred yen to fly up and 
knock me dead. I wait and no yen fly up to strike 
me on the cranium. Now I go with fine ship, and 
work like plain man.” 

“You have a sense of humor, king,” said I, “and 
sink me if I don’t try to get you a job wrastling 
the dishes aft. How about it? Can you sling the 
pots — are you a number-one pot-wrastler ?” 

“I never wrastle; a little jujutsu sometimes 
when necessary for take care, but I work at any- 
thing your august self tells. If honorable com- 
mander tells me to wrastle pots, I try him so. I 
pretty good with sword or short knife ” 

“Not so fast, king; this isn’t a man-of-war; no 
fighting here. All the fracasing done here is done 
by my august self and the other mate, Mr. Bill 
Slade, both, as you say, honorable men, and some 
hustlers when it comes right down to handling 


A TWO-STRANDED YARN 


237 


cloth in a blow. What I want — honorable ship 
wants — is a man to give the eats aft — savvy? 
Bring in the hash from honorable cook in galley — 
see? Set dish on table, wash dish off table. You 
know.’^ 

'‘But I am soldier — son of Samurai. I do not 
like dishwork ; but if no other way, I do mean work 
to get to Tokyo,” he said sadly. 

“You're on,” I hastened to say. “You're on, 
king, but in the future you will be known as Koko. 
Savvy ?” 

“As Mister Komuri,” he interrupted, with a look 
from those slits of eyes that called my attention. 

“No misters aboard here but my honorable self 
and mate. Rules of honorable ship, you know. 
Sorry, but august skipper has discipline, and you 
are soldier. You savvy? We’ll compromise on 
Komuri. How's that — ^just plain Komuri, steward, 
hash boy, hey?” 

“Your august self, yes; to common men. Mister 
Komuri, yes.” 

“Get aboard, then,” I said. “Go forward to the 
galley. The cook — that big Kanaka there — 'he'll 
give you the line. In the meantime I’ll square it 
with the boss.” 

Mister Komuri sprang over the rail, and made 
his way as directed. It was easy to see that he had 
been in ships before, as what Japanese hasn't, since 
they are a race of seamen. 

Our new member took hold without further or- 
ders, and I saw him not again until the land was 
well astern, and we were on our way to Guam, with 


238 


A TWO-STRANDED YARN 


forty-seven chink coolies below, and two lady pas- 
sengers aft. 

This was the second part of our run, the first 
being from Frisco, where we had shipped the 
coolies under the leadership of their gigantic fore- 
man, who had tried to take the ship and landed in 
jail for his pains. The few thousand dollars we 
now carried in the safe aft was not worthy of anx- 
iety in regard to protection. Our voyage promised 
to be uneventful. 

Among our crew were two new hands we had 
shipped at Honolulu to help run the ship, also to 
take care of the Chinese we carried. Our expe- 
rience with the coolies had taught us that being 
short-handed was not either good or safe. Our 
arms were now ready, being, as they were, riot 
guns full of buckshot, and reliable six-shooters of 
heavy caliber. This going out with nearly half a 
hundred Chinks with but three men in a watch was 
all right if the Chinks were good, but we had found 
they were not to be trusted. With the leader of the 
uprising in jail for murder, and his lieutenant 
killed, we hoped for an easy life. 

We now had four men in watch, with the engi- 
neer for the ever-ready steam winch bunking in 
his engine house with banked fires and enough 
steam always ready to handle line. We were really 
carrying a full crew for a schooner, and the ex- 
pense of the engine was extra, there being now 
enough men to handle her canvas easily without the 
aid of the winches. 

One of the new men was a strange-looking fel- 


A TWO-STRANDED YARN 


^39 


low, who was neither dago nor Dutchman. Just 
what he was I don’t know, except that he was 
crafty, watchful, and dodged all work possible. He 
had a way of looking at you with eyes that seemed 
to fathom your inmost thoughts, an affected way 
of appearing to understand, and his peculiar si- 
lences gave support to the look. It deceived the 
old man. 

It deceived both Slade and myself at first, but aft- 
erward we grew more discerning, peered deeper 
into his meaning, and saw — ^nothing. He was just 
a petty, crafty sea lawyer who was looking for 
trouble to carry back to the coast, where they love 
to get masters and mates mixed up in courts for 
some violation of the shipping articles. 

This fellow’s name was Dodd — Alfred Dodd — 
and he was called Alf by his shipmates. Komuri 
seemed to sense danger the moment he jostled the 
seaman in the gangway the first day out. I heard 
the row from the deck, and it was short. 

‘‘Hey, Jack,” yelled Dodd to the regular steward 
we had signed on in Frisco, “Jack, you seem to be- 
long to the nobility now — can’t hand a man a pot of 
coffee during the mid- watch no more, hey? Let 
the king do it.” 

“Not king; just plain Mister Komuri,” purred 
our little helper, as he grinned. 

“What’s the matter?” asked Dodd. “Don’t four- 
flush at your title, hey?” 

“Aw^ give us rest,” said Jack, who was good- 
natured and liked the little yellow man, for Ko- 


A TWO-STRANDEB YARN 


240 

muri did all his work now, and there was no come- 
back. 

“I don’t know if honorable sailor means wrong 
by four-flush,” said Komuri quietly, ‘'but if he does 
the finger of Fate will point at him.” 

“Wow! Fate will point at me! What der you 
think o’ that?” sneered Dodd. “Let’s hope you 
ain’t Fate, sonny, or I might p’int my own fair 
hand at you in return.” 

“If honorable seaman will step out to the fore 
end of ship I’ll show him just what a son of Sa- 
murai means. It will take short time.” 

“Sure, king; I’ll go you that explanation, all 
right. Come right along while the watch are get- 
ting their whack. No one will notice us.” 

Komuri jumped like a tiger without warning. 
He sprang upon the fellow, and had a strangle hold 
of his wrist, and twisted over his neck until I 
thought he was getting killed. I had to stop laugh- 
ing to run up and stop the fracas. Dodd was sweat- 
ing with pain, and cursing furiously, absolutely 
helpless. It was so quickly done that I wondered at 
it. Of course, a strong man might grab the small 
fellow and jerk him out of his shoes, but that was 
not Dodd. 

“Drop it!” I commanded, and the second stew- 
ard let go at once, smiling. “Now, get below, and 
quit this fooling,” said I, and the sailor waited for 
no further orders. “You can show me some of 
your tricks, you Japanese juggler, when we have 
more time,” I said to the little man. “You interest 


A TWO-STRANDED YARN Ml 

me considerable. Get to the hash, and don’t waste 
time with a fool like that.” 

Of course, it might be expected that a man of 
Komuri’s parts would be gallant, for it seems al- 
ways the case when a man is able and unafraid 
that he is sure to love with more passion than dis- 
cernment. Komuri was not an exception. 

Not being at the first table with the passengers, 
I had small opportunity to see how he treated Miss 
MacDonald, but from what Slade told me I was 
concerned. The small chap was always in attend- 
ance upon the ladies when they were on deck. He 
was politeness itself, and he busied himself with all 
kinds of little efforts to make them more comfort- 
able than they were. 

‘Tf honorable ladies will allow, I fix the rugs in 
chairs,” he would say, and although the weather 
was tropical, a rug made a softer seat when they 
took the air on deck, which they did nearly all day- 
time while we ran our westing down beneath the 
tropic of Cancer. 

With a good full month or six weeks before us, 
and a fair wind on the starboard quarter all the 
time, we had a stretch of water to cross that put one 
in mind of steamers. The ship ran steadily day 
and night at about from eight to ten knots an hour. 
We seldom touched a sheet or halyard except to 
set it up, and the gentle heeling with the trade swell 
made the voyage seem like a yachting trip. 

Komuri had much time to devote to the comfort 
of the ladies, and the elder one seemed to like him 
very much indeed. He told them stories of the 


A TWO-STRANDED YARN 


242 

warlike Samurai, and honor and self-respect stood 
out plainly in them all. It was not a bad thing, 
except that he always seemed to be something of a 
hero, and no steward either second or first should 
be such a thing where there are seamen around 
waiting for the job. 

have always believed that you heathen were 
very able people,” said Miss Aline, ‘'and if you 
were treated properly you would be just as gentle 
and tractable as the European races.” 

“Heathen,” said Komuri calmly, “are those who 
do not accept your own honorable views. Who 
knows which is right? It is a word we never use 
in Japan.” 

She looked at him a moment, and said: “You are 
quite incorrigible. I hope you are not really bad, 
after all.” 

“Honorable lady must see by how I do — not how 
I talk; she judge humble self most true. Her heart 
right,” said the Japanese, which I thought was go- 
ing some for a second steward, especially when I 
remembered how Slade stood, or wished to stand, 
in a certain quarter. I thought it best to let the 
humble steward see he was going far enough. 

“Say, king, old man,” I interrupted, “Jack wants 
you to get busy with the potatoes for dinner. He's 
waiting for the peelings.” 

Komuri nodded to me respectfully. 

“At once, august mate, I go,” he said, and went. 

“Quite a superior steward, that Japanese boy,” 
said the elder lady to me. 

“Oh, he's a wonder, all right,” I assented; “but 


A TWO-STRANDED YARN 


243 


his place is in the galley, and not on the quarter- 
deck — if I may be allowed to speak of it.” 

‘‘And I do hope you will treat him kindly — not 
as you did the Chinese man who went bad,” said 
Miss Aline. 

“No fear of it — not the king. He wouldn’t stand 
roughing — and don’t call for it. You see, while 
he goes with the Chinks altogether too much for 
their own good, and talks altogether too much for 
his own, he is not a Chinaman. Oh, no; he is far 
removed from the coolie Chinks, as far as the skip- 
per himself. He’s just a plain little fighting man, 
that a good-sized mate like myself could bite in 
two ; but I know him — just what he’d do.” 

“Why, what?” asked Miss Aline. 

“I’d hate to tell you,” I grinned. 

“You may be a good seaman, but you’re some- 
what stupid,” said Miss Aline, and I laughed out- 
right at her humor. 

“What do you think of this fine weather?” asked 
her aunt to change the conversation. 

“It’s good as it goes, but it’s the hurricane sea- 
son, and we can’t count on it lasting all the way, 
you know,” I said. “Maybe we’ll hook right into a 
typhoon before — ' — ” 

“Oh, you always want something rough, some- 
thing bad,” put in Miss Aline. “I never saw such 
a man. Why do you always look for trouble? 
Don’t you find it often enough without hunting it 
always ?” 

“Sure as eggs,” I said; “but I’m only telling 


244 


A TWO-STRANDED YARN 


you what I believe, what the signs show me. I'm 
not trying to frighten you at all." 

think you are perfectly horrid," said the 
young woman. 

“I hope Fm wrong, at least," I answered. But 
as I scanned the perfect sky I felt that indeed I 
was trespassing upon the feelings of the passengers 
too much, in spite of the fact that I had a mercury 
glass to observe in Slade’s room. 

The coolies came on deck in the daytime now, 
and sat in rows along the waterways, eating their 
rice and chewing some sort of stuff to fill in the 
interval between meals. They chattered a lot, and 
appeared not to feel abashed at their former be- 
havior. 

At these times the old man would come on deck 
— it being about the time he’d take the noon sight 
— and gaze down at them dismally. He hated 
Chinks, and their presence in his ship was more 
than he could get used to. 

‘'What good are Chinks, anyway?" he would say. 

“Somebody’s got to do the work in hot coun- 
tries, and you can’t always get the blacks. They 
are just like mules, carabao buffalo, or jacks. 
They’ll work on ten cents a day and get fat; they 
don’t know any better," I’d tell him. 

But he would shake his old, shaggy head and 
mutter : 

“What good, what good, anyway?" 

As a matter of fact, they did no harm aboard 
besides befouling the air of the alleyways with their 
eternal opium smoking. They had nothing at all 


A TWO-STRANDED YARN 


245 


to do with the men forward, and the only person 
who appeared to be able to hold intercourse with 
them was Komuri. He understood their lingo or 
singsong way of telling it, and he would talk to 
them for hours during the evening after the sup- 
per things were washed up, and Jack, the steward, 
had turned in. 

I was a bit suspicious of this, for I don’t like 
men of the after guard to be intimate with either 
the crew or the passengers. It starts something 
before long, and the voyage across the Pacific is 
a long one if nothing else. Slade commented upon 
the Japanese often, and he rather disliked our little 
second steward for his untiring efforts in behalf of 
the ladies. Slade was a jealous man, although he 
was a seaman from clew to earing, and his atten- 
tions to Miss Aline were more and more marked as 
the schooner sped on her course. 

‘‘Why shouldn’t I get married?” he used to say 
to me when we had a chance to be together, which 
was seldom enough. “Why shouldn’t I get a wife, 
and take up the simple life of the farmer? I’ve 
been through all the hardness of seagoing, and I’m 
tired of it. What is a man, after all, if he sticks 
to it? He gets to be a skipper of some blamed 
hooker that’ll make him a couple of thousand a 
year when he is too old to enjoy spending it. Then 
he loses her, maybe, and then where is he? A fit 
subject for the sailors’ home. No, I’m going to 
marry that woman and get a berth ashore. You 
watch me.” 

Of course, I encouraged him all I thought neces- 


^46 


A TWO-STRANDED YARN 


sary. I even grinned at times when I thought of 
the picture he would make as a husband of a woman 
like Miss Aline MacDonald — after he had been on 
the beach for a year or two. 

And so we ran our westing down, and drew near 
the one hundred and sixtieth meridian to the 
northward of the Marshall Islands. Here the trade 
failed us for a wonder, and began to get fitful and 
squally. At times it would come with a rush, and 
then die away altogether, the squalls being accom- 
panied by rain. A mighty swell began to heave in 
from the southeast diagonally across the trade 
swell, and it lumped up some, heaving the schooner 
over and rolling her down to her bearings when 
the wind failed to hold her. 

The glass fell, and the air became sultry, the sun 
glowing like a ball of red copper in the hazy atmos- 
phere. The squall clouds grew heavier, and when 
the sun shone between them it sent long rays, fan- 
shaped, through the mist. 

The old man came on deck, and viewed the sea 
with a critical eye. It was nearly eight bells, and 
Slade was on watch. I came out and watched them 
take the sun for meridian altitude — ^both of them 
sometimes did this together — and when the bells 
struck off, Slade came down from the poop, and 
joined me on the main deck. 

^'What’d you make of the weather, old man ?” he 
asked. 

"‘Looks dirty to me; glass falling and the hot 
squalls coming from that quarter — whew! Look 
at itr 


A TWO-STRANDED YARN 


S4T 


As I spoke a huge roller swept under the 
schooner, lifting her skyward, and Ihen dropping 
her slowly down the side. It was an enormous 
sea — a hill of water full forty feet high — and it 
rolled like a living mountain, a mighty mass that 
made nothing of the trade swell, and told of some 
tremendous power behind it. 

The sea ran swiftly, with a quick, live feeling. 
As sure as death there was awful wind somewhere 
in that peaceful ocean, driving with immense force 
and resistless power. 

Slade looked askance at the topsails. As he 
gazed the old man sang out from aft : 

'^Clew up the topsails and roll them up snug. 
Put extra gaskets on them 

Then came the main and mizzen along with the 
outer jibs, and by the time the watch had their 
dinner we were close reefing the mizzen and taking 
the bonnet out of the foresail. 

Miss Aline was on deck, as the sudden motion 
was so extraordinary that to remain below meant 
to be seasick. Her aunt came up from a hasty 
meal, and clung to the poop rail and watched us 
work. 

‘‘Oh, those gallant men!” she murmured to her 
niece. “See how they climb like monkeys upon 
that awful sail. Romantic heroes! Yes, Aline, 
they are wonderful, and the way that officer talks 
to them is a revelation. Just hear him.” 

I was at that moment holding forth to a couple 
of squareheads upon the evident virtues of passing 
reef points properly, and I may have slipped my 


248 


A TWO-STRANDED YARN 


etiquette a bit, for my language was such that I was 
almost persuaded to follow it with action. But I 
had heard enough. I stopped. The men went on 
lazily, growling at the work. 

“Reefing a ship in a dead calm,” grumbled one, 
“ten minutes for the eats, and then we’ll loose these 
here p’ints out ag’in, and take the sail to the winch.” 

I was too angry to hear more. Here was an old 
lady putting me queer with men who ought to know 
better than talk when they were expected to hurry. 
At least they should not criticize their officers. 

“Get along, you Scandaluvian sons of Haman! 
Get those points in lively, or the squall’ll break be- 
fore you know it — an’ I’ll be the rain, thunder, and 
lightning!” I roared. 

I refused to look at the two passengers, and went 
to the forward end of the poop, and looked down 
at the Chinks, who were seated in the waterways 
eating their rice and long-lick — molasses. Just 
what to do with these fellows seemed to me a 
problem. We could hardly lock them in now, and 
if trouble came along quickly they would be in it, 
right in the middle. 

The old man came from below, and gazed sol- 
emnly across the misty sea, and I went to him. 

“How about it?” he asked. “Hadn’t we better 
house them Chinks now, before it’s too late? They’ll 
die of suffocation in those alleyways with the ports 
shut fast — I suppose you shut the ports in, didn’t 
you?” he said. 

“Sure. Everything is snugged in below. Ko- 
muri saw to it. He knows how to talk to the Mon- 


A TWO-STRANDED YARN 


249 


golians — tell them they must keep the ports shut. 
But I don’t like leaving them on deck, even if it is 
hot enough to roast potatoes on the deck planks. 
How’s the glass, sir?” 

‘'Bottom dropped out of it somehow; mercury 
concave and ’way down. There’s some unusual 
disturbance knocking about this sea. There’s trou- 
ble ahead — typhoon season, you know. Nothing 
but wind moves that awful swell. Look at that!” 

A hill of water rolled majestically onward, catch- 
ing us under the counter, and sending us along its 
great, smooth crest, then dropping us again as we 
had hardly steering way under the short canvas. 

“I’d like to know which way it’s coming — lay our 
course to drift out of it, or run, but who knows — 
who knows before it strikes? I wish you would 
see to the gear forward. I don’t want things to 
get loose. And take charge. No, sir; don’t let 
anything out of the way happen while you’re on 
deck.” 

I saw the old man was getting nervous. The 
low pressure and the sultriness were telling on him. 
He knew what was coming well enough, and fretted 
under it. It was hard waiting, even for an old sea- 
man like himself. Slade came on deck, and puffed 
carelessly at his pipe, gazing about, and then going 
aft to chat with the ladies. He was always ready 
to cheer them up. Nothing would happen — ^posi- 
tively nothing. There was no use of their getting 
nervous at the heavy swell. It had often happened 
before — a heavy swell and no wind, ’way out here 
in the middle of the Pacific. No telling where the 


250 


A TWO-STRANDED YARN 


storm might be, but, of course it wouldn’t be near 
us — oh, no. 

Oleson came aft to me. 

'‘Shall I lock in the Chinks ?” he asked. 

"Yes,” I answered. "Lock ’em up, put a pad- 
lock on both doors, and see that they don’t get 
loose again until this is over.” 

Oleson went to Komuri. The Jap listened to 
him, and then repeated the order, passing the word 
like a seaman should, without comment. The 
Chinks followed him into their quarters in the alley- 
ways, and Oleson locked the doors on the outside, 
putting extra padlocks on them. The alle3rways 
were upon the main deck, and shut off from the 
lazaret by a bulkhead. 

"If honorable mate will let me open those ports 
inside, Chinese men will be able to breathe better 
— air very hot in there,” said Komuri. 

"All right, king; go ahead. And if she lists 
over and drowns them like rats in a trap you’ll be 
the man to loose them — see?” I warned him. 

"I’ll take care them, me,” said Komuri. "If hon- 
orable ship, she turns over, me, Komuri, will see to 
ports. Very hot inside there.” 

I turned away and watched the horizon. The 
haze was thickening, aiid the squalls were begin- 
ning to come with more force than before. A sud- 
den spurt of wind sang hoarsely in the rigging, and 
a drift of spray flew upward. 

The men were still at work making things snug 
when I heard a murmuring, a moaning, vast, filling 
the air, then dying away again. It was all about 


A TWO-STRANDED YARN 


251 


us, seemingly upon all sides. Then again I .heard 
a harplike note of great volume. The horizon dis- 
appeared in the southeast, and the blue-steel bank 
of vapor shut off the sunlight. It grew dark and 
gloomy. 

‘'She’s coming along all right in a few minutes,” 
said Slade, who came near to me and passed on to 
his room. He came on deck in a couple of min- 
utes, with an oilskin coat buttoned fast about him, 
and he sweltered in its heat. I still stood at the 
weather rigging. 

“Go get your rain clothes on,” he said, coming 
to relieve me. 

“Nix! Let her go as it is — better wet with salt 
water than sweat,” I replied. 

The skipper came forward. He suggested that 
the two passengers go below, and Jack, the stew- 
ard, with Komuri to assist him, managed to get 
them below without protest, although it was some- 
thing like ninety-six or seven in that saloon. 

A white streak spread upon the sea. The squall 
struck, snoring away with a vigor that told of more 
coming. The spumedrift flew over us. Then an- 
other, and another furious blast of wind bore down 
upon the schooner, and she lay slowly over until 
lier rail was submerged. 

In five minutes the hurricane was roaring over 
us, and the Tanner lay upon her beam ends while 
we struggled with the mizzen, and held the wheel 
hard up to throw her off, the weight of the wind 
holding her down with a giant hand. 

Yelling and struggling, all hands now tried to 


S52 


A TWO-STRANDED YARN 


get that mizzen in. It was a waste of time. I 
saw the skipper clinging to the boom and using his 
knife upon the canvas, and did likewise. With a 
thundering roar the sail split, torn to ribbons. We 
could not make ourselves heard in the chaos of 
sound, but waved frantically our orders and helped 
as only good seamen can. 

But the Tanner refused to go off. She lay flat 
out with her cross-trees in the lift of the sea, and 
she hung there. The forestaysail burst with a crack 
that we heard aft, and vanished as if it had been 
snow in a jet of steam. The bonneted foresail 
held with the wind roaring over the top of it, spill- 
ing away, but still keeping full enough to keep 
from slatting and bursting. It was the heaviest 
canvas and brand new, and all the time squall after 
squall bore upon the straining ship, roaring, 
screaming with the blast of a gun as the puffs came 
and went. 

That wind was like a wall of something solid. 
To move in it was enough to tax the strength. It 
pressed one against what was to leeward — pressed 
him, held him and bore upon him like a weight of 
something solid. To let go meant io run the risk 
of being blown bodily away into the sea. 

We clung along the weather rail, and hung on 
with both hands, watching the white smother fore 
and aft, but unable to look to windward for an in- 
stant against the blast. The outfly and uproar was 
so tremendous that all sounds were lost in it. I 
found myself near Slade and the old man, all three 
clinging to the rail, and gasping for breath. The 


A TWO-STRANDED YARN 


253 


skipper’s gray head shone bare in the blast, and the 
white foam flecked it, and dripped from his beard, 
his ruddy cheeks glowing red in contrast. His 
teeth were set, and he was just holding on. 

For a long time we three hung there, and did 
nothing but try to survive the fury of that hurri- 
cane. The forward part of the schooner was 
blotted out, and I just remember that to leeward, 
where I could look, the surge boiled and foamed 
clear up to the hatch coamings. 

I thought of the women below, and knew they 
were safe for the time being. Then I remembered 
the starboard alleyway, and the ports that Komuri 
had left open to give the Chinks air. The alleyway 
was now completely submerged ; the ports far below 
the surface of the sea, the Chinamen were caught 
there like rats in a trap. 

The narrow space must even now be filling up, 
and I thought of the poor coolies struggling against 
that door the carpenter had so securely locked and 
fastened upon them. They could never break it 
open, for upon it we had placed our safety against 
another uprising, and the double, two-inch planks 
bolted crossways would stand more than the weight 
of the crowd that would be able to surge against 
it. The alleyway could fill entirely without any 
water getting below. 

I grabbed Slade by the arm, and pointed at the 
lower deck. 

‘The Chinks — below — can’t get out!” I roared 
against the hurricane. 

Slade grinned a sickly grin and nodded. Then 


254 


A TWO-STRANDED YARN 


he ducked his head against the wind and bellowed 
back: 

‘‘Can’t help it — can’t go there-^sure death!” 

I fancied I could hear the outcries of the impris- 
oned men, but the deep, bass undertone of the hur- 
ricane roared away overhead and swept away the 
impression. 

It was sickening to think of it. Fully twenty 
men were in that alleyway, and the four eight-inch 
ports were letting in four streams of sea water, 'for 
the Chinamen would not know enough to jam them 
full of clothes or anything they could get hold of, 
being little better than animals in point of intelli- 
gence. 

If the schooner would only pay off she would 
right herself and let the openings come above the 
sea level ; but she hung there dead, beaten down by 
a blast so terrific that it seemed like a solid wall of 
something heavy bearing upon her and crushing 
her life out. It took the breath away, and I found 
myself gasping, trying to get air to breathe, suck- 
ing in the flying drift and spray, and choking, hold- 
ing one hand over my nose and mouth to keep 
from actually drowning in the smother. 

It seemed as if we had already been hove down 
a full hour, and I was tiring. The schooner held 
doggedly broadside in the trough of the sea, which 
was now appalling in height, and was breaking 
solidly over her high rail and upturned side. We 
could not last much longer in the dangerous posi- 
tion, and I began to believe we were lost. Our 
hatches were closed, and no water could get below 


A TWO-STRANDED YARN 


255 


unless something gave way, but it was certain some- 
thing would go before long under that strain. 

I looked hopelessly at the man at the wheel, who 
had passed a lashing upon his waist, and was strad- 
dling the shaft, clinging to the spokes with despera- 
tion. I wondered if he still held the wheel hard 
up, but knew that in her present knocked-down 
state it would make little difference, for she would 
not steer without some headsail to swing her out 
and off that mighty sea., 

I crawled along the rail, fighting my way hand 
over hand, passing the skipper and gaining the edge 
of the poop. I yelled to Douglas, who was the man 
straddling the wheel shaft, but he only shook his 
head and ducked from the squalls. 

While I bawled for him to tell me what helm 
she carried, I was aware of a figure crawling from 
the companionway to the after cabin. It came 
creeping up just under me, up the almost perpen- 
dicular deck, and it looked like a big monkey until 
it came right into me, and then I recognized Ko- 
muri, our little steward. 

Komuri was yellow, a pasty yellow, and his 
wrinkled face looked old and haggard. He was 
only partly dressed, and he clawed the rail fran- 
tically for a hand hold. He looked the worst- 
scared Jap I had ever seen or dreamed of. He 
climbed close to me. 

“Men locked in — all die — ports open,'’ he 
screeched in my ear. 

“I know — can’t help it — door under water — no 
tools,” I yelled in reply, and he howled something 


256 


A TWO-STRANDED YARN 


that ended in a screech that was unintelligible, for 
over it all sounded that deep, bass roar, thundering, 
booming, vibrating into chaos all sounds. 

I watched him, and he climbed past me, making 
his way forward with amazing speed, considering 
he was crawling along a wall which had been the 
deck. He made the break of the poop, and disap- 
peared, going in the direction of the forward house, 
although how he ever expected to get there was 
beyond reason. 

Something made me follow him, and soon Slade 
and myself were at the edge of the poop, and gaz- 
ing down at the partly submerged door of the star- 
board alleyway. While we looked, Komuri came 
climbing along the rail of the ship, disappearing 
now and then under the solid water that swept her, 
but, to our amazement, still keeping hold of the 
pins, and gaining slowly toward us. 

In one hand he held Oleson’s ax, and he was 
coming toward us, coming to do a piece of work 
we had already given up as impossible. 

No word was spoken as Komuri struggled up to 
where we clung and gasped for breath, half 
drowned in the rush of water. 

I passed the end of a line about him after a 
fashion, and he dropped off to starboard down the 
steep slant, and instantly went under as a huge sea 
fell over the schooner. 

We held the line. Then we saw him again, and 
he was hacking away at the door, chopping at the 
lock and staple while he swung scrambling with his 


A TWO-STRANDED YARN 


257 


feet against the planks. Slade thoughtfully 
dropped down other lines, and made them fast. 

I could see little of what was going on. The 
seas were breaking over us now with tremendous 
volume, and it seemed only a question of a few 
minutes before the schooner must g6 down, any- 
how, for she couldn’t lie on her beam ends very 
long without something giving way. 

The work of getting at those Chinks appeared to 
me now a useless labor. We would all be where 
there was no caste, no coolies, in a short time. And 
yet such is the habit of a seaman, he works on 
against certain failure at times, when ordinary 
folk would accept the verdict and quit. 

I held Komuri until my arms were nearly para- 
lyzed, and I was fainting with exertion and lack of 
air. The first thing I knew of what he had done 
was when a Chink came climbing monkey fashion 
up one of the lines, followed by another and an- 
other, their yellow faces pasty and drawn, and their 
pigtails streaming after them. They clung along 
the weather side, and lashed thernselves fast to 
whatever they could find. I saw the dark figures 
of a couple fade away in the smother to leeward, 
and knew they had gone to where all Chinks go 
sooner or later, but the rest came up and clung for 
life there in the strident breath of the typhoon, and 
the booming roar drowned out even their shrieks 
and yelps. 

I tried to haul Komuri up again, but could not. 
I howled for Slade to help me, but he was sepa- 
rated by a row of Chinks, and couldn’t reach me. 


^58 


A TWO-STRANDED YARN 


I hammered the nearest Chinaman over the head in 
frantic desperation to make him haul line and save 
the little Jap, but the fellow only ducked the blows, 
which were too weak to hurt much. 

Komuri, exhausted, could not climb back. He 
could no longer help himself, and he was trusting 
to me to get him up from the white smother beneath 
that was drowning him. The madness of my weak- 
ness came over me. I had been a bucko mate with 
ready hand, and could take them by and large as 
they came from the dock to the forecastle, but 
here I was weakening, holding to a line at the end 
of which was the bravest little man I had even seen, 
the gamest little fighter — Komuri, son of Samurai, 
the fighting class of the Japanese. 

And Komuri was going to his death because I 
•couldn’t help him. On and on I struggled with the 
line, bellowing curses, but I could get little or no 
line over the pin, and I was growing surely weaker 
and weaker. 

Then I stopped, and tried to see if there was any 
chance to help, any chance to save the little hero. 
I saw Komuri dangling in the foam, his face up- 
turned to me, and a smile upon his yellow, wrinkled 
visage. He waved feebly to me, and I knew he 
was signaling for me to haul him up — and was 
wondering why I didn’t 

''Oh, my God, you poor little devil!” I howled. 
"It’s too bad — too bad 1” 

A gigantic sea crashed over the schooner, a 
mountain of water. I passed the line about my 
waist, and snatched a turn to keep from being 


A TWO-STRANDED YARN 


259 


washed away. That was the last I remembered for 
some time. 

When I regained my senses I was lying on the 
deck, and Slade was dragging me by the arm to- 
ward the cabin doors. The roar of the hurricane 
still boomed over us — the wild rush of the sea — 
but it came from aft now, and I knew they had at 
last got her off the wind, and were running her 
either to hell or safety. 

Ten minutes later I was struggling up the com- 
panionway again to the deck, where the old man 
was now conning her, and watching her run seven- 
teen knots an hour before a series of hurricane 
squalls that simply lifted her almost bodily out of 
the sea. 

I saw we had passed the center of the cyclone, 
for we had the wind almost directly opposite from 
where it was when we lay knocked down. I got to 
the shelter of the mizzen, and from there watched 
the men at the wheel hold her as she ran. Some 
one had loosed a bit of canvas forward, but it had 
blown away, and the ribbon streamers stretched 
and cracked until they vanished in the blast. 

''How’d you do it ?” I yelled to Slade, who clung 
in the lee. 

“Squalls let up sudden — hit the center — she 
righted, and then ran off when we hit the other 
side of it!’' howled the mate. 

“Where’s Komuri?” I howled. 

“Don’t know — must have gone to leeward. Some 
Chinks gone, too — you came near going.” 

That was all I could get from Slade. But I 


260 


A TWO-STRANDED YARN 


knew all that was necessary. Komuri had gone to 
the port of missing ships. He had died as a Sa- 
murai should, facing his end fearlessly, fighting to 
the last for others in the hope to save them, the 
ones he had tried to help by giving them air and 
leaving their ports open when they should have been 
closed. He had known his responsibility, and had 
done what we had failed to do. 

There were three Chinamen missing, but our 
own men were safe. They had got under the side 
of the engine house, where they were protected from 
both the sea and wind. They clung there until the 
vessel righted, and then turned to with a will to 
save the ship. 

We ran the Tanner all that day and the follow- 
ing night, keeping her before a mighty sea that al- 
most overran us. She steered well once she got off 
before it, and after we got canvas on her forward 
she was safe enough. It had been a close squeak 
for all hands, and we breathed easier as she ran out 
of the disturbance and came again upon her course. 
A week later we ran her in behind the reef of 
Guam, and came to anchor off the town of Agana, 
where we were to discharge part of our cargo and 
the Chinese. 

In behind the barrier we ran her without further 
incident, and as the wind fell we rolled up the can- 
vas and let her drift into fifteen fathoms before 
letting go the hook. 

The ladies came on deck for the first time since 
the typhoon, and gazed happily at the beautiful 
island crowned with green, tropical foliage — a wel- 


A TWO-SVRANDED YARN 


261 


come relief to the eye that had seen only the blue 
water for so long. They were to leave us here, 
and we were to go on to Manila, coming later to 
take them back upon the return voyage. It would 
give them three months on Guam. 

‘Where is our little Jap, Kamuri — we haven’t 
seen him for a week?” asked Miss Aline. “He was 
nice about getting our things together — we really 
must have him help us ashore.” 

“Hasn’t Slade told you?” I said. 

“No. What do you mean?” she asked in sur- 
prise. 

“Komuri is dead — lost in the typhoon — ^he 
saved the Chinks,” I answered. 

Both women gasped their surprise. 

“I am so sorry!” exclaimed the younger. 

“And he was so good,” said her aunt. “I won- 
dered why Mr. Slade hadn’t spoken of him be- 
fore. I suppose it’s because Mr. Slade feels that 
he is now to be your guardian and must protect 
you from all ill news — oh, I forgot — you hadn’t 
heard. Yes, Mr. Slade is the man. He saved 
Aline’s life, you know, and they are to be married 
after we get back. Strange he didn’t tell you.” 

I thought so, too. Slade was a sly dog — and 
he had used my collars, also, in his wooing. I was 
— well, I was ready to congratulate any man who 
could make up his mind to marry. 

But I turned away so abruptly that I thought I 
had to apologize to Slade afterward, to keep from 
getting in a row with him. But Slade understood, 
and squeezed my hand. 


262 


A TWO-STRANDED YARN 


‘‘There's some of that port left over below," he 
said, and he led the way down. 

He filled two glasses to the brim, handing me 
one. 

“To your health — and that of Miss Aline," I 
said stiffly, feeling that there was something to 
say, or do. 

“No," said Slade slowly, thoughtfully, “to the 
best man." 

“Sure — to me, the best man at the wedding?" I 
said, in feigned surprise. 

“Oh, no," corrected the mate. “Not at all — al- 
though you are not so bad, old chap." He raised 
his eyes and looked straight into mine. “We drink 
to the best man in the ship — who was in the ship — 
to Komuri." 

And we drained our glasses. 


AT THE END OF THE DRAG- 
ROPE 


T here were five men all told in the fishing 
schooner Flying Star. I had known them 
all well, and had been shipmate with four 
of them. Captain Johnny Sparks was a Dutch- 
man, a “squarehead,^’ but a good seaman, and he 
had fished on the Hatteras Banks during three 
bluefish seasons. His vessel was a Provincetown 
specimen — what used to be termed the “Gloucester 
fisherman” type, before the decadence of that port 
in the industry which once made it famous had 
ended its shipbuilding. 

She was a small vessel, much smaller than the 
modern Provincetown fisherman, which has a short 
foremast, a mainmast planted almost amidships, 
and sweeping canoe bows with overhang. No, she 
was of the old type — two sticks stuck upright in 
her at almost equal distances, marking her into 
three almost equal parts; a main-topmast sprung 
well forward and stayed well aft to steady the 
“whip” of long and continuous plunging into a 
lifting head sea. She was “chunky” in model, 
bows rather bluff, almost like a coaster, and her 
stern was of the old-time sawed-off pattern, sunk 
263 


264 


AT END OF DRAG-ROPE 


low in the water, an ugly stern for running in a 
heavy sea when the lift is quick and fast. 

She was not worth over two thousand dollars, 
but Captain Johnny owned half of her, and he had 
no criticisms to make of her behavior in heavy 
weather. With a long, straight keel and full un- 
der-body, she was an excellent sea craft, provided 
she was properly handled. 

I was mate of the passenger ship Prince Alfred 
with Bill Boldwin, running from New York to the 
West Indies, and as we ran on schedule we often 
fell in with the Hatteras fishermen twice during a 
voyage. 

Johnny was fishing three miles north of the Dia- 
mond Shoal Lightship as we passed him on our 
voyage out. He stood upon his quarterdeck and 
waved to me. I was on the bridge, and bawled 
out I would have some fruit for him on the return 
trip. He nodded and waved his hand in apprecia- 
tion, and his cook poked his head out of the galley 
and grinned. His boats were scattered along the 
shoal, all hauling up bluefish as fast as they could. 

Four other vessels from New York were on the 
grounds, but I recognized none of them. Our pas- 
sengers gazed at the small boats tossing as only 
light-built dories can toss in a lively sea; and they 
commented on the fishing. 

As a rule, the average landsman thinks all fish- 
ing is done on the Grand or George’s Banks. They 
get the idea from writers who know these waters 
well, and it never enters their heads that the north- 
ern banks are but a very small part of the great 


AT END OF DRAG-ROPE 


265 


Atlantic fishing grounds, where the professional 
fisherman must toil to wrest his living from the 
salt sea. 

It was due to a Gloucester Yankee, though, that 
the great fishing of Campeche Bank became 
known. Hove-to in a vicious norther a few score 
miles off Galveston, the ‘‘cod-hauler” was driven 
gradually off shore until he was far away from the 
land. Suddenly from a fathomless gulf — he had 
had the perseverance to keep his lead going at in- 
tervals — ^he fetched the ground in thirty fathoms, 
and gradually shoaled his water. 

With a hook just above the lead, he soon began 
to haul up snappers, and he came running into port 
a few days later with his schooner loaded to her 
bearings with as prime fish as ever came out of 
the sea. 

Captain Johnny had fished there a year, but ow- 
ing to the slowness of the Flying Star he had given 
it up until the steam patrol boat had been put on to 
make the rounds and buy the fish on the grounds. 
It was Johnny who had gone into Sabine once for 
water when Dick Hollister was marshal. 

Hollister was a saturnine chap, who wore a 
heavy Colt with seven notches in the handle, each 
notch meant for some beggar he had been forced 
to perforate in the course of his strenuous career. 
He was accounted one of the most fearless and able 
marshals in Texas. One morning he visited the 
Flying Star, apparently looking for a man he 
wanted for a certain episode in horses. He swag- 
gered about the decks with his Colt in full view. 


266 


AT END OF DRAG-ROPE 


and caused so much interest that he impeded the 
work. 

Johnny spoke softly to him — he always had a 
soft way of speaking — and told him he must get 
ashore. The marshal turned and gazed at the little 
“squarehead” in disdain; but Captain Johnny, who 
was sitting on his hatch-combing, looked up with 
gentle gray eyes and pointed to the jetty. 

“You get avay — ^get oudt wid you, my friend. 
I don't got no time fer wastin' wid circus-actor 
mens wid funny fringes and artillery dragging 
mid dere waist belts — git!'' 

And as the marshal didn't move, Johnny shied 
a coiled line at him, hitting him somewhat violently 
in the body. 

Instantly Hollister drew his Colt. 

“You blamed little shrimp! if you do that again 
I’ll plug you,” he said quietly, wiping the fish 
scales and salt water from his clothes. “Don’t make 
any mistake; I’m not your friend.” 

Captain Johnny was especially blue and sad that 
morning, so he gazed at the marshal, while his hand 
reached for a heavy sinker. 

“If you ain’t my friend, fire away not; if you 
are mine friend, you shoot me, for I’m tired enough 
wid dis business, an' I don't vant do be livin’ al- 
ways, forever, yet. Shoot, mein dear friend, shoot 
— or if not mine friend, den take dis !” 

And he tossed the pound lead with such precis- 
ion that it stretched Hollister flat upon the deck 
before he could take good aim to do more than rip 
the collar off Johnny’s coat with his fire. When he 


AT END OF DRAG-ROPE 


267 


came to, Johnny was bathing his head where the 
sinker had cut him, and pouring good whisky down 
his throat. 

‘'You are mine friend — but a poor shot — take 
another drink with me, and den go. Here’s your 
blunderbust — you interrupts de vork on de deck — 
git oudt !” 

And yet there was a lot of energy in that sturdy 
form standing there upon the deck of his under- 
manned schooner waving his acknowledgments to 
me upon the bridge of the liner. Yes, Captain 
Johnny Sparks was a good seaman. May the deep 
ocean hold him gently in its eternal embrace, for 
he loved it — cloved it as only a true seaman does ! 

We made the run south, and were coming up 
with a full complement of passengers from Jamaica, 
when we began to notice a definite change in the 
weather. It was the hurricane season, September, 
and the heat was oppressive. The passengers lay 
about the decks in chairs all day and half the night, 
getting what air the ship made with her rush of 
fifteen knots an hour through the quiet sea. We 
ran along through the Passage, leaving Cape Maysi 
out of sight before dark, and rapidly hauling up 
under the lee of the Great Inagua Bank. Here in 
the smooth sea night fell upon the ocean, and I went 
on the bridge for the first watch. 

As I came into the pilot house to sign the order- 
book for my course, Captain Boldwin called my 
attention to the glass. It had fallen rapidly during 
the last few hours, and was now dangerously low. 

“Keep a good lookout,” he said, “and call me at 


^68 


AT END OF DRAG-ROPE 


the first signs of a change/' I signed the order- 
book, and he went below. 

How many times has an officer signed that order- 
book before even going on the bridge? And how 
many times has the said officer made an entirely 
different course from that signed for? But then 
steamship companies do not supply ships and coal 
for their officers to study navigatipn. It would not 
look well on paper. Every officer of a passenger 
ship is a licensed master, a captain; and no first- 
class company will ship any other kind of man to go 
on the bridge to take charge for the watch of four 
hours, for during that time the ship is absolutely 
under his command, and it is necessary that he shall 
be a skilled navigator, capable of taking the ship 
along just as safely should accident befall her com- 
mander. For this responsibility he receives from 
seventy-five to a hundred dollars per month; and 
half of the passengers whose lives he holds in the 
hollow of his hand for half the night look upon 
him as little better than a ship’s cook ! 

We appeared to follow the low barometer, or it 
to follow us, for when daylight came we were still 
running smoothly across the Atlantic with nothing 
but an oppressive heat and mugginess to warn the 
landsman of the low pressure. 

‘‘There’s something coming along behind us ; 
something there astern that will probably make 
things howl,” said Boldwin, as he came on deck in 
the morning. 

The sun was brassy in a coppery haze, but it was 
clear enough to get a good sight for longitude. I 


AT END OF DRAG-ROPE 


269 


called off three good sights, took the note, and went 
below to work the longitude before breakfast. On 
ships running across the Gulf or Florida Stream 
from the southward, bound for New York or some 
port south of it, there is every necessity for getting 
the westing accurate. We always found that, run- 
ning diagonally across for the Diamond Shoal Light 
vessel, we were set about twelve miles to the north- 
east while running at from twelve to fifteen knots. 
This was almost a regular fixed factor, but in heavy 
weather it was not always safe to run full speed 
inside of it. 

To make to the eastward of the lightship was 
well enough, but to fetch to the westward was the 
one thing that has always made Boldwin nervous, 
and rightly so. If he missed it going to the east- 
ward, he would pick up some other landfall to the 
northward, if he was too far off; but if he missed 
it going to the westward in a driving gale, when it 
was too thick to see half a mile — well, we had never 
done so yet, and had no reason to pray for the ex- 
perience. 

We were a fast liner, full of fruit and passengers, 
and we could not stop for anything on the run up. 
With fifty thousand bunches of bananas below, we 
must drive the ship to her destination as fast as she 
could go, and neither hurricane nor calm must stop 
her. The company seldom kept a seaman long who 
brought in fifty thousand bunches of ruined fruit, 
some of it twelve hands, and most of it more than 
eight, selling at retail at nearly a dollar a bunch. 

Two years before, Boldwin, after being hove-to 


^70 


AT END OF DRAG-ROPE 


for thirty-six hours in a gale, had brought in his 
ship laden with fruit he had taken under protest, 
the “yellow” being plainly in sight at the ends of 
more than half the bunches. He had docked, and a 
score of men had waded about for several days up 
to their hips in a mess which, once seen, causes all 
lovers of bananas to eschew that fruit forever after- 
ward. Banana juice will cut the steel plates of a 
ship’s side almost like diluted sulphuric acid — ^but 
they gave him another chance. 

It was late in the afternoon of the day we had 
run clear of the land, when the first signs of the 
hurricane of September 19, 1903, made its appear- 
ance. The swell began to roll heavily from the 
southeast with a curious cross-roll from the west- 
ward, making a peculiarly uncomfortable sea for a 
steamer running northward. It dropped away from 
under our counter, and the Prince Alfred dipped her 
taffrail almost to the unruffled surface. Then she 
would rise upon it, and, as it lifted well under her 
underbody, she would roll to port and throw her 
stern so high that the starboard screw would race 
in a storm of foam at the surface, shaking her tre- 
mendously, and annoying the passenger's who hap- 
pened to occupy after-staterooms. 

When the second officer. Smith, came on duty, I 
made my way aft to take a look over things — to see 
that the small boats were securely lashed ; that grat- 
ings and gear were in place, for it was evident that 
we were to have a piece of dirty weather. A large, 
fat, pale-faced woman poked her head out of 
window and demanded that I have the starboard 


AT END OF DRAG-ROPE 


271 


engine stopped at once, as it was too racking on her 
nerves. She declared she had stood it as long as 
she could, and would lodge a complaint with the 
president of the company immediately she got 
ashore, if her demand were not complied with in- 
stantly. I started to argue the case, but she cut 
me short, exclaiming that “they never did such 
things on the French boats.’’ 

All the gear was in order aft, and I had just made 
my way to the bridge, when the Captain called my 
attention to a haze gathering to the southward. 

“The glass is starting down again — dropped two 
more tenths,” he said. “We’ll run foul of something 
before eight bells. Looks like it was following the 
Stream along to the northward; it usually does.” 

A heavy, blue-black bank of cloud, smooth, and 
swept into an immense semicircle over the southern 
horizon, but rising fast, told of the beginning of 
trouble. Half an hour later we began to feel the 
squalls, which came suddenly and with vicious 
spurts of fine rain. 

“According to old Captain Valdes,” said Bold- 
win, “if you place your back to the wind, the center 
of the blow is to the left, or port side, and a bit be- 
hind you. This breeze is coming in from the east- 
’ard good and quick, and it looks like we’ll fetch 
the center straight and fair the way we’re heading.” 

“Would you stop her and heave her up?” I asked. 

“Stop her? Not as long as she’ll swim. What 
do you think we are — a sand-barge? Stop a liner 
running on schedule with a fortune of bananas ly- 
ing below ? Get those ventilators trimmed, and put 


272 


AT END OF DRAG-ROPE 


three covers on the after hatch and lash them fast. 
We’ll run her. Who do you think would take this 
packet out the next voyage if he hove her to?” 

As it was only too evident that it would be my 
chance, I said nothing. 

The light grew dim as the gray pall of the storm 
quickly overspread the sky. The dull gray light 
made the sea appear queer and dark, with the great 
heave now running quickly, as though a mighty 
power were working close behind it. The tops of 
the breaking combers had a peculiar lift to them as 
they met the cross-swell, and the racing of the star- 
board engine became more and more violent. A ter- 
rific squall bore upon the ship, seemed to almost lift 
her bodily before it. The roar of the wind whirl- 
ing through the heavy standing rigging told of its 
velocity, and then we waded right into the thick of 
it, with the Prince Alfred lurching along eighteen 
knots an hour over a sea which was torn into a 
white and gray world that ended, so far as our vis- 
ion was concerned, a few fathoms from the ship’s 
side. 

Boldwin was standing on the bridge, holding ta 
the rail, and leaning to the blasts as though it took 
his whole weight to bear up against them. I came 
close to him. 

‘^Get every one . . . below ! Lock in . . , 
passengers!” I caught his words with my ear ten 
inches from his mouth. ‘‘Cover . . . hatches 

... all fast.” 

I knew what he meant. When the Prince Alfred 
closed down her cargo there was something unusual 


AT END OF DRAG-ROPE 


273 


happening. Making my way down the bridge steps, 
I got the men of the watch together. It was tough 
work, for the sea was now ugly, and we were run- 
ning our weather-rail down at each roll, and scoop- 
ing up plenty of water which she sent across her 
decks to leeward. To stand up without holding on 
meant to be blown bodily against the lee rail at the 
risk of going over. 

It was an hour before I got back to the bridge, 
and when I did so, the squalls were becoming more 
frequent, and more and more violent, but there was 
no shift yet. It soon grew dark — a black dark — 
and we tore along into the blackness, unable to see 
two fathoms ahead. As yet we were outside the 
Stream, and consequently not in the usual line of 
the coasters, which are the dread of the liner’s offi- 
cers, for nothing is so uncomfortable as the sudden 
raising of the dim and sometimes half-extinguished 
lights of a schooner on a thick night while tear- 
ing along before a gale. Having the right of way, 
the sailing vessel has nothing to do but keep her 
course, while the steamship, with but a few seconds 
to spare, swings quickly to pass, sometimes missing 
a catastrophe by a few feet. A poor red light on 
such a night cannot be seen twenty fathoms. 

Before midnight the shift began. It came from 
the southward — a bad sign/ for it told plainly that 
we were nearing the center of the disturbance ; and 
as we were heading diagonally across the path of 
the storm, we were almost certain to bring up in its 
dread vortex. As chief officer, it would have been 
a bit out of place for me to suggest the thing the 


g74 


AT END OF DRAG-ROPE 


ordinary seaman would do — that is, heave to and 
work out of it. Boldwin stood on his bridge and 
kept her going. 

And yet it had to come. Before daylight the sea 
was terrific — the squalls coming with furious 
rushes, shifting, and hurling a frightful sea. A 
huge, lifting hill of water broke high above the taff- 
rail, and roared a full fathom deep over the quar- 
ter-deck. The crash shook the steamer through her 
whole frame. It was as though she had struck a 
solid rock. The white glint of the foam showed 
through the blackness, but the dull, thunderous roar 
drowned all other sounds. 

Boldwin went to the speaking tube in the pilot 
house, called to the chief engineer to stand by to 
heave her to and watch the engines as she came into 
the trough. 

''Well have to stop her,” he said; and I nodded 
assent. 

In the pilot house the clanking of the steam steer- 
ing gear sounded dully in the deep, sonorous under- 
tone of the gale outside. 

Boldwin waited but a moment, and then gave the 
order : 

"Hard over, sir!” cried the quartermaster; and 
the rattling clank of the engine sounded the signal 
for me to take advantage of the opportunity to get 
outside by the lee door. 

If it had been blowing before while we were run- 
ning, it was now a blast. 

The Prince Alfred laid down her whole five hun- 
dred feet of steel side into that sea, and the crash 


AT END OF DRAG-ROPE 


275 


of the mighty hill that swept her shook her as 
though she had been struck amidships by the ram 
of a battleship. The forward funnel guys parted, 
and I had a momentary glimpse of a great pillar 
of iron going over the side to leeward. Then she 
began to head the sea, and no human could face the 
storm of flying water which swept the bridge. 

With heads down, gasping for breath, Boldwin 
and myself gripped the bridge rail. The flying at- 
mosphere tore past us. We dared not loose our 
grasp for an instant, and to get back to the shelter 
of the pilot house was impossible without following 
the iron rail aft. 

After a thunderous rush of qu^ck and vicious 
squalls, there was a sudden lull. A giant comber 
showed ahead, and its white and foaming crest 
lifted clear into the night. She buried her whole 
forward deck, and, as the water cleared, we could 
see about us. The dull snore of a giant sea sounded 
close aboard. It was uncanny, this sudden stillness, 
full of a palpitating murmur and pregnant with an 
ominous power. 

‘'Right in it!” gasped Boldwin. “How does she 
head now?” 

“Southeast by south,” I answered. “The next 
squall will probably come from the northwest.” 

“Well, I guess we’ll swing her while it’s still — 
Lord, what an awful sea !” 

The Prince Alfred came slowly around with her 
engines turning at half speed. The high, leaping 
hills of water seemed to come from all directions 
at once. They fell upon her decks and shook her 


276 


AT END OF DRAG-ROPE 


up a bit, but did no damage. Five, ten, fifteen min- 
utes passed. A distant murmuring sounded over 
the torn sea. 

‘‘Which way?” asked Boldwin nervously. 

A puff of cool air blew straight in our faces ; we 
had not noted how sultry it was, for we were soak- 
ing wet and exhausted. The puff blew to a breeze. 
Then came a spurt of rain and a faint flash of light- 
ning. In a minute we were facing furious squalls, 
and the Prince Alfred, with a full head of steam, 
had all she could do to keep steering way with her 
nose pointed straight into the blast from nor’-nor’- 
west. 

It was in the gray of the early morning, while 
Boldwin and I were still on the bridge, and the sec- 
ond and third officers were in charge of the saloons 
quelling the panic, that we sighted something dead 
ahead. The squalls were still whirling over us with 
longer intervals between, but with still undimin- 
ished vigor. The great sea began to show in front 
now through the dim light, and it was all the full- 
powered liner could do to hold her own head to it. 
To swerve to either side meant falling off into the 
dangerous trough, with the hazard of not being able 
to regain her course. Even as it was, we had to 
more than once slow the port or starboard engine to 
enable her to point her nose straight into the hurri- 
cane. 

Upon the crest of a giant hill of water something 
showed black. It was a momentary glimpse, but 
Boldwin and I saw it instantly. It was close aboard 
and, as we yelled to each other and strained our 


AT END OF DRAG-ROPE 




eyes ahead, we made out the thin line of a mast. 
Baldwin dropped on his hands and knees and was 
blown to the pilot-house door. I waved my hand 
to ease her to starboard a little. Just then a sea 
struck us heavily upon the starboard bow, and held 
her with its rush. The next moment the shape 
ahead was high upon the crest of a mighty sea, and 
I recognized the stern of a vessel outlined against 
the gray pall. 

I looked over the side. The foam was lying dead 
with us, showing we were not going ahead more 
than a knot or two. Boldwin saw it also, and knew 
that to slew his ship now would mean to get struck 
a blow in the side which in tha't sea would probably 
prove fatal. He thought of his passengers. They 
must be considered first. Whatever was ahead was 
going to hit us, and it was due to those we had 
aboard that it must strike us as fairly upon the 
stem as we could land it. God help them, we must 
save our own ! 

We plunged headlong into the trough, and right 
above us upon the following crest rose the stern of 
that sailing vessel. She was plainly in view now ; 
so close that I recognized the sawed-off shape of an 
old-time fishing schooner. Upon her main a bit of 
rag like a trysail showed white. She was heading 
the sea at the end of her sea anchor, a long drag- 
rope, and as her deck showed, I saw she had been 
badly swept. 

There was no one in sight. She was going 
astern fast, much faster than we thought, for even 
while Boldwin tried to edge to starboard, and did 


S78 


AT END OF DRAG-ROPE 


all he could to swing his ship without getting his 
head thrown off with the sea, the stern sank just 
ahead of us in the hollow of a sea, and our stem 
rose above. I leaned forward and held my breath. 
The Prince Alfred fell headlong into the hollow, 
and just as we struck I read the name Flying Star 
painted large and white right across the transom. 

A dull grinding thud, which shook the Prince 
Alfred but slightly, was all that came to us. A sea 
swung the wreck to port, and as she heeled and 
settled, I saw Johnny Sparks spring from the com- 
panionway, followed by several men. The next in- 
stant a great comber roared over them and the 
schooner disappeared, leaving nothing above the 
foam to show where she had floated a moment be- 
fore. Something caught in my throat. I shut my 
eyes, and held my head down for I don’t know how 
long. 

We came into port four days later with Boldwin 
on the bridge, his face lined and haggard. Below, 
thirty thousand dollars’ worth of bananas slushed 
about in a ghastly mess, in spite of the pens and 
shorings. But the passengers were happy. Women 
in gay dresses came on deck and smiled and chatted, 
and children romped and played. The captain did 
not look at me — he had not since the collision — but 
he spoke to me for the first time. 

‘‘See that everything is shipshape when we dock,” 
said he, “and then meet me at the company’s office 
at four o’clock. I’ll probably not take her out next 
voyage — take a lay-off for a while — understand?” 


PIRATES TWAIN 


A t last I was back in the regular liners of the 
Prince ships. My work on the Heraldine 
had been appreciated by Lord Hawkes, the 
manager, and his lordship was no piker. 

He refused Bold win my company when that 
worthy but thirsty skipper asked to have me back in 
the old Prince Alfred, where a certain lady whom I 
admired greatly was stewardess. 

The new Prince George, twenty-five thousand 
tons and a twenty-two-knot vessel, was wanting a 
first officer, and old man Hall was somewhat dis- 
posed to give me '‘a chance,’’ as the saying is at sea 
when an officer applies for a berth. 

“You may report to the captain to-morrow at the 
dock,” said his lordship, and our interview was at 
an end. Boldwin looked sour, for I had been a good 
mate to him, and he wanted me badly, but the man- 
ager’s word was law. 

I found the giant liner all that modern improve- 
ments could make her. From her six-hundred-foot 
keel to her four immense funnel tops, she was a 
beauty. 

It would take a week to describe her many qual- 
ities, and I must admit it gave me a feeling of re- 
279 


^80 


PIRATES TWAIN 


sponsibility when I stepped upon her flying bridge 
and looked her over. 

There I would be in command every four hours, 
and when I gazed over her immense length and 
breadth it seemed indeed that I must be a person of 
some small ability to hold the job. 

No flippant remarks here, no joking about the 
passengers or the company. It was silence and dig- 
nity. 

How I stood it at first is more of a wonder to 
me, when I look back at the time, than the actual 
work, for really a ship’s officer is not considered a 
mighty position, even though he does hold the lives 
of a couple of thousand folks in his keeping during 
his watch on deck. 

But I was not too old, and had ambition, for 
some day I wanted to have a little farm of my own 
and raise chickens and hogs — the true ambition of 
every seaman I ever met — and I wanted to ask a 
certain lady to run the said farm for me, or rather 
do the cooking, which is probably the same thing. 

Our crew was shipped by the agents. Old man 
Hall had nothing whatever to do but act as over- 
seer of the navigators, which same were myself 
and a second officer named MacFarland. 

Mac was a good seaman, although he had never 
been in sail, but had risen from the apprentice school 
of officers established by the company to train men 
for its ships — and they were of course all steam. 

I must admit he knew more of express ships than 
I, but I had ten years more sea duty done, and I 
was something of a windjammer in my time. This 


PIRATES TWAIN 


281 


gave me the rating with the older men who had 
served the same way in the old sailing vessels. 

We knew each other, and could depend always 
upon certain things in each other that no school 
could develop the same way. I sat at the head of 
the chief officers’ table, and I bought a book of 
table etiquette to get the lay of the whack just right. 

It taught me many things I hadn’t learned in a 
ship’s forecastle, and soon I was able to speak to the 
prosperous-looking passengers without feeling that 
my tongue was in the way of my teeth. 

We carried three hundred first-class — that was 
some when you think of it — and we often herded 
fifteen hundred to two thousand in the steerage. 
Four hundred seconds added sometimes put our to- 
tal complement over three thousand souls, counting, 
of course, our crew, stokers, and waiters. 

You will realize at once the inability of a chief 
mate getting even the slightest acquaintance with 
hundreds of the people who used the Prince George 
for transportation across the ocean, and, if I could 
not get a line on them, it was equally impossible 
for the pursers, pursers’ clerks, and stewards to 
do so. 

Mr. Samuels, the head purser, had a memory that 
was said to be infallible. He said he never forgot 
a face. Of the million or two people he came in 
contact with during his runs, he boasted that he 
could always tell if he had ever seen one of them 
before. 

I didn’t believe it, of course; but, then, pursers 


PIRATES TWAIN 


^82 

have a way that many seamen can’t understand, any- 
how. 

Being an express ship, and carrying the first-class 
mail, we also had an express safe. This was built 
into the body of the vessel, and was like the new 
bank safes, with solid steel doors and time locks. 

Two watchmen took charge, alternating night and 
day, and the massive doors were not to be opened by 
any one alone. In that safe we often carried three 
or four million dollars in solid gold bars or gold 
coin. 

Sometimes the banking houses of the United 
States shipped as much as two million at a time in 
coin. Precautions were of the modern banking sort, 
and the giant safe caused no comment. 

The other safes of the purser and captain were 
just plain, every-day affairs, and seldom held more 
than a few thousand dollars. These were very dif- 
ferent from the “through” safe. 

I had been in the ship four months before I no- 
ticed a man who sat at my table. He had made 
a voyage with us the first run I made, and I remem- 
bered him as a clergyman who had relatives abroad 
in Europe, but who was himself an American. 

He was a very dignified man, about fifty-five 
years of age, and he knew a great deal. I enjoyed 
talking to him, for he told me of many places and 
events that were most interesting. But he never at 
any time discussed religion, or even spoke of sub- 
jects relating to it. 

Once on his second trip over, he came to my 


PIRATES TWAIN 


283 


room, and presented me with a box of fine Havana 
cigars and, although it was against custom, I asked 
him in, and he came. 

We smoked while I should have been sleeping, 
but I was not by any means overworked, and I 
rather enjoyed his society, flattered of course that a 
man of such vast experience and learning should 
single out the chief officer for a companion. 

But then I knew many folks looked upon a mas- 
ter navigator as a likely person to know, and was 
not very much surprised, setting it down to his good 
taste and discernment — for I had gone a mile or 
two myself in my day, and had seen a few things 
both ashore and afloat. 

Once I remember he talked of finance and the 
great gold shipments that were disturbing the coun- 
try. He had followed the administration in its ef- 
fort to curb a panic that was threatened, and spoke 
of the money we carried in gold coin that was for 
the purpose of staying a run at that time upon a 
banking house that had many foreign affiliations. 

‘‘The express safe is generally full, is it not, dur- 
ing times like these ?” he asked. 

“Yes, we carry millions every voyage now,” I 
answered, and noticed that the Reverend Mr. Jack- 
son made a peculiar grimace as if amused at the 
news. 

The conversation immediately drifted off to Cape 
Town, where the minister had lately spent much 
time, and he soon left me to my slumber and cigars. 

I noticed that he had remarkable hands, im- 
mensely strong, as though he had done much hard 


^84 


PIRATES TWAIN 


work, and afterward I wondered at a small tattoo 
mark on his wrist just beneath the edge of his cuff. 
He had powerful, hairy wrists, and the blue mark 
showed very indistinctly through the black hair, but 
it caused me to think of him as a strange man. 

I asked him about it the next day when at the 
table, but he made an evasive answer, smiling at my 
compliment to his strong physique. 

was something of an athlete in my younger 
days,’’ he finally admitted, “and you must not think 
that because of my profession I live a sedentar)^ife. 
I work very hard among my parishioners, and play 
golf a great deal. Of course, you, as a seaman, 
would hardly appreciate the mysteries of tkis manly 
game.” 

“I confess that it seems rather tame,” I admitted ; 
“seems like a poor sort of ‘shinny’ we used to play 
in America when I was a lad.” 

“My wife plays it also, and she is very strong and 
agile from the exercise,” said Mr. Jackson; “I hope 
you will meet her next month when I return, as she 
will probably go to London with me.” 

I expressed pleasure at the thought, and noticed 
that Doctor Jackson was really quite a good-looking 
man, and there was no reason in the world why he 
should not possess a very pretty wife. 

His clean-shaven face, lined, it is true, as though 
he had spent much time at physical exertion of the 
heavier sort, was handsome enough. A large, high 
nose, not badly shaped, set in between two steel-blue 
eyes, wide apart, and his mouth, although thin- 


PIRATES TWAIN 


285 


lipped and hard-looking, was not ugly, and his teeth 
were large, even, and snow-white. 

Altogether he was a man of strength and char- 
acter from his appearance, and I remembered him 
for his kindness — and cigars. 

Three weeks later, upon the return voyage, he 
came aboard and told me he would bring his wife 
aboard the next morning, and was just then seeing 
to his room, which was amidships, and upon the 
lower or main deck, just above the express room 
and over the steel safe. 

He asked me if I thought the noise from below 
would ^turb them, his wife being a nervous 
woman and irritable. I knew no sounds of any 
consequence would penetrate the deck, which was 
steel, and assured him that tHb voyage would be 
most pleasant, as the time of year was fine upon the 
western ocean. 

The next day I was too busy to notice the couple, 
but when we were at sea and had made our depar- 
ture, allowing me to go below to dinner, I found 
that Doctor Jackson and his wife were seated at my 
table about midway down the row of seats. 

The minister nodded to me, and his wife smiled 
pleasantly. Her back was to the ports, and the light 
was bad, but I saw that she was about thirty, and 
very masculine in her appearance. 

She had a very good complexion, rosy and 
healthy, but her face had a peculiar hardness, a 
settling about the corners of the mouth that boded 
ill for any one who crossed her temper. I made 
up my mind to feel sorry for the doctor. Her voice 


286 


PIRATES TWAIN 


I could hear very indistinctly, but it had a sort of 
hardness, a suppressed tone of assumed smoothness 
which I did not like. 

At eight bells that night when the day’s work 
allowed me to get my time below, I met them as I 
left the bridge. The doctor introduced me to the 
lady, who stood tall and commanding in the dark- 
ness. She murmured something indefinite, but ac- 
knowledged me without offering her hand. 

I believed this coldness was more cultivated than 
natural, but, as I had learned since being in express 
ships that ladies did, or did not shake hands, ac- 
cording to their training, I passed it up for what it 
was worth. 

Doctor Jackson seemed a bit annoyed at the 
strained feeling, but I saw no reason why a woman, 
a wife of a minister, should find much in common 
with a seaman, even if he did happen to be the chief 
mate of the liner. 

Our ways would naturally be different. Her top- 
ics of conversation would not fit in with mine, and 
I was mortally afraid of offending her by some 
sailor’s slip in my tongue. 

I really was glad when they left me to go to my 
room, and I hoped that I would not have to enter- 
tain them any more than the rules of the liner’s 
etiquette called for. 

The next day the doctor informed me that his 
wife had succumbed to the rigors of the sea and the 
motion had made her deathly ill. I saw her no 
more, and it was the fifth day out when the steward 


PIRATES TWAIN 


28 T 


came to my room at night and asked to speak to 
me privately. 

‘‘The couple in Room Sixty-two will not allow 
their bed to be made up nor any one to enter. Doc- 
tor Jackson said to see you and it would be all 
right ; but you know, sir, it’s against the rules not to 
allow inspection. If you will attend to the matter, 
it will take the weight off the old man — he tried to 
enter, but he was told he could not, owing to the 
lady’s indisposition.” 

“Aw, they’re all right,” I said. “Tell the captain 
I know the old sky-pilot well, and that he’s a min- 
ister who has been across twice before with us. I’ll 
go down there myself to-morrow and inspect. Give 
the doctor my compliments and tell him I’m sorry 
the rules make the inspection necessary.” 

“There’s a strong smell of whisky, alcohol, sir, 
all the time, coming from the room — don’t know 
what it can be, but I’m afraid of fire. It’s probably 
some of those patent traveling stoves they use for 
heating certain medicines or something.” 

“Well, cut it out — I’ll go down in the morning — 
that’s all,” I said, and then I turned in and forgot 
all about the incident. 

The next day when I went below, I found the 
doctor and his wife waiting for me. The lady had 
her face wrapped up in towels, and the doctor was 
reading, sitting near the bed, which was a brass one, 
bolted to the deck. 

I excused myself, and was just on the point of 
leaving when I noticed the smell of alcohol. It was 


^88 


PIRATES TWAIN 


mixed with one similar to the heated odor of a red- 
hot stovepipe, burning metal. 

“Have any trouble with the lights?” I asked. 

“Oh, no, everything is all right — one of the elec- 
trics broke and made a little smell — no, all is as 
comfortable as one could wish, thank you,” said 
the doctor. 

“I suppose you’ll go the route all the way up?” I 
asked. 

“No, we’ll transship at Queenstown — there’s a 
yacht waiting for me there, and we’ll take her for 
the rest of the way to the African coast, by way of 
Gibraltar. You might help us with our luggage to- 
morrow — our little trunk is very heavy, you see.” 
And he tried to raise one end of a small steamer 
trunk that was allowed in the room. 

“Oh, that will be all right — ^the steward will fix 
you up — I’ll see you before you go,” I said, turning 
away. 

“I hope so,” returned the doctor, with a most 
peculiar intonation in his voice that made me look 
at him. But he was now turning the leaves of the 
book again, and a moan from the bed made me hes- 
itate no longer. 

I left them, and sent word to the head steward to 
see to my friends getting ashore in the morning. 

As we entered the Channel, the passengers who 
were to go ashore came on deck. Doctor Jackson 
and his wife appeared at the gangway, and waited 
quietly for the boat. 

The lady was now wrapped up in shawls, and her 
face was heavily veiled. The clergyman himself 


PIRATES TWAIN 


289 


seemed a bit nervous, but they finally went over the 
side with their luggage all right. 

What he had told about that steamer trunk was 
no joke. Two assistant stewards could hardly 
lift it. 

Bound with iron and stoutly strapped, it seemed 
as though it would burst of its own weight before 
it was placed in the lugger that would take it ashore 
or rather to the small schooner that lay a few miles 
distant and which the doctor had pointed out as 
the vessel he had chartered as a yacht to take them 
on their summer cruise to the beautiful Mediter- 
ranean. 

I waved my hand, and then went below to turn 
in, for the last night is always a bad one for the 
chief mate when making the land. 

‘^Bang, bang, bang,’’ came blows upon my door, 
followed by a yell from without. I expected to find 
the ship in collision, and leaped from my bunk half 
asleep. The express messenger stood without, ac- 
companied by four assistants and the steward, the 
purser, and the second officer. 

‘‘Safe blown, sir!” yelled the messenger. “It’s 
bloomin’ well half empty, sir! Nearly a quarter of 
a million gone. Party from above — you knew them, 
the steward says!” 

I ran with them to Room Sixty-two, and burst 
in where the captain stood gazing at a hole in the 
deck. He turned to me, but said nothing. The rug 
which had been placed over the opening was thrown 
aside, and there lay a hole eighteen inches wide 
right in the floor. 


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Upon the sides the charred wood told of some 
fierce heat to which it had been exposed. The heavy 
steel plate beneath had been melted and burned as if 
the blast of a volcano had seared it. 

Ragged-edged, melted, and bent lay the plate, and 
beneath it again lay the hole in the express safe 
right in the treasure room beneath. Down and 
through all led the seared hole. Some mighty heat 
had melted, burned, and blown away the plates of 
hard steel. 

I leaned over, and gazed down into the room 
where the gold had been packed in the short, stout 
boxes of the bank. It was scattered about, thrown 
all around in confusion as though the robbers had 
at last given up all hope of getting more out. 

They had taken all that two men could lift or 
carry for a few rods, stopping only at the limit of 
their endurance; and, though the amount was not 
so large as the express messenger had at first stated, 
it ran well over one hundred thousand dollars. 

For a moment I stood staring from the hole to 
Captain Hall and back, too amazed to speak, while 
the old man looked at me keenly. 

‘‘Nice little job,” he commented dryly. 

“The doctor and his wife — do you think?” I 
asked. I was beginning to see light. 

“Wife, thunder ! That was a young man of tre- 
mendous strength,” snarled the express messenger. 
“Look how he used that electric burner — look how 
he bent and tore at the plate — he was a giant — had 
the current on his hot chisel all day — that’s the 


PIRATES TWAIN 


291 


smell you noticed. Probably the two most expert 
safe-crackers alive, and our outfit gave them the 
chance to work the hot knife, burn their way in 
where they never could have blown. They con- 
nected with the light — got current enough to work 
with, and covered up with the rug 

“Well, we won’t waste time seeing how it was 
done; we’ll get a move after them,” said the old 
man. “Jump on deck, and blow the siren — blow the 
alarm for fire, police — set the signals ” 

I was gone before he had finished, and by the 
time the uproar was well under way I had time to 
gaze toward the little schooner the doctor had 
marked out as his yacht. 

She was still lying at anchor, but beyond her and 
about five miles distant lay a fishing schooner with 
very tall spars and a very able look. She was hoist- 
ing her foresail, and I could just make out that she 
was getting under way at once. 

I waited no longer. Jumping to the upper deck, 
I yelled for the crew of the first cutter, boat number 
one, and gave the signal for her men. They came 
scrambling as to the drill, and as they came I yelled 
to young Smith, the third officer, to get arms and 
join me. 

He dashed into his room, and came back with a 
heavy revolver. The express messenger came up 
while we were lowering away, and handed me an- 
other. 

“We’ll go with you,” he said. 

“No ! No use loading her down with men,” I re- 
plied ; “we want to get some speed on her — row six 


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PIRATES TWAIN 


oars double banked, and that’ll fill her up — you can 
come, you. Smith, and myself — it won’t take a 
ship’s crew to get them — lower away,” I called, and 
the boat dropped. 

We followed, and in less time than it takes to tell 
it we were going through the sea at seven knots an 
hour with the best-drilled boat in the ship. Three 
men aft armed, and that was all. 

It was a bright summer morning, with almost no 
wind, and I was certain that we would soon over- 
haul the runaways. The schooner lifted her anchor, 
and stood out to the westward and southward, and 
soon appeared to be making good headway. 

‘'By Jupiter, she’s got a motor in her!” said 
Smith. 

She was going ahead, almost straight in the eye 
of the wind, just close enough to keep her sails full, 
and she was moving a good five knots. She was a 
good four miles distant, and we would have to do 
some fine rowing to catch her. 

I looked my men over, and wondered if they 
could stand it. They pulled steadily, and the boat 
went along swiftly, but even a heavy ship with an 
engine has a distinct advantage over oars. 

The schooner’s motor was but an auxiliary, to be 
sure, but five or six knots under motor was some- 
thing desperate to catch by rowing when we were 
so far astern. 

At the end of another mile I was getting anxious. 
Our bearings were not changed to any extent, and 
the third officer looked askance at me. 

“Give it to her, bullies — there’s a hundred apiece 


PIRATES TWAIN 


293 


if we get them/' I said, and swung my body with 
the stroke of the oars. This had an effect upon the 
men. A hundred dollars was more than three 
months’ pay. 

They put their weight upon the ash, and the boat 
fairly lifted under the strain. The sweat began to 
pour down their faces, and the wind died away, 
until the swell ran oily and smooth. 

^‘Give it to her,” I cried again, as we gained a 
little. 

The two men at the bow oar swung mightily upon 
it. There was a sharp crack. The bow oar snapped 
off at the rowlock, and the boat eased up her speed, 
leaving two good men idle. 

'‘Great snakes!” howled Smith, and the express 
messenger looked at me in despair. 

"We can’t catch her now,” he muttered. 

I knew it was true. We were now dropping 
back, and I kept on only because I felt that it would 
not do to give up. I scanned the sea for signs of a 
boat. 

There were some fishing to the northward, and it 
was our only chance. I swung her around toward 
them. 

"We’ve got to try for one — maybe there’s one 
with a good motor in her,” I said. In a quarter of 
an hour we were up to one boat, and saw she was 
not fit. We swept past without slowing up. 

"Any boat about here with a strong motor?” I 
asked, as we came close. 

A fisherman waved his hand to the northward. 


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PIRATES TWAIN 


“Boat up there — Seawave — she’s fast ; what’s the 
matter?” he replied. 

But we were gone without further words, and 
soon came to the boat. She was long and narrow, 
built like a seiner, only not so heavy. Two men sat 
in her with lines out. I hailed them as we came up. 

“Want to catch that schooner out there,” I yelled, 
pointing to the vessel. “Give you a hundred dollars 
if you land us alongside — quick.” 

“Got the money?” asked the man who appeared 
to own her. 

We came alongside without delay, and I felt 
rather foolish for a moment. But the express mes- 
senger had the cash with him. He handed it over 
without a word, and the fisherman turned quickly 
to his engine. 

The other man pulled up the anchor at once, and 
in half a minute we were under way, with the mo- 
tor roaring out its glad sound in a series of rapid 
shots that were like the discharges of a rapid-fire 
gun. 

“Take the boat and follow,” I called to the men, 
and then Smith, the messenger, and myself were 
away in the wake of the schooner that was now a 
good five miles off and going steadily seaward. It 
would be a chase for fair. 

“Can you make it?” I asked the owner, who sat 
in his oilskins at the engine. 

“Sure t’ing we make ’em — ’bout two, three hours, 
if the gas holds out.” 

We were now going along at eight knots and run- 


PIRATES TWAIN 


295 


ning steadily. After all, there’s nothing like ma- 
chinery to get things done. 

‘This is something like,” said Smith. ‘There’ll 
be some shooting inside of an hour if the signs 
hold.” 

The messenger said nothing. The men of the 
boat had not asked a question. They had taken us 
at our word, and were doing what they could to put 
us alongside. 

Perhaps it would be different when we came to 
close quarters. We had better tell them what our 
errand was before they stopped the motor at the 
beginning of hostilities. They might take us for 
what we were after — burglars, and spoil our chance 
to make a catch. 

We drew near the schooner after two hours’ 
chase. The land was lost astern, and we had run 
fully fifteen miles off shore. 

The breeze began to freshen, but not enough to 
give the schooner her full, or even half, speed. She 
plugged along steadily at about five knots, and we 
drew up close enough to see a man at the wheel and 
no one else on deck. 

Smith and the messenger told our skipper how 
matters stood, and the fisherman seemed to hardly 
relish the game after he knew it. There was cer- 
tain to be trouble. 

“Schooner ahoy!” I yelled, as we drew near 
enough to hail. 

The man at the wheel paid no attention until I 
had repeated it several times. Then he turned and 
asked us what we wished in no pleasant tone. 


296 


PIRATES TWAIN 


“You stop your engine and let us board,” I yelled. 
“You have two robbers aboard, and we want them 
in the name of the law.” 

“Who are you ?” asked the man, spitting over the 
rail. “Go away — I don’t know you.” 

“Run alongside — we’ll jump her,” I said to the 
skipper. The messenger. Smith, and myself drew 
our revolvers, and stood ready as the small craft 
came up to the main channels. The schooner kept 
right along. We sprang aboard without meeting 
resistance, and gained the deck. 

“Where’re your passengers ? Don’t fool with 
us,” I snapped. “There’s an old man and a young 
one dressed as a woman.” 

“Oh, Doctor Jackson and the young feller — 
they’re down below — asleep. What do you want 
with them?” 

We wasted no time talking. All three jumped 
down the companionway and into the little cabin. 
Doctor Jackson was in a bunk, apparently fast 
asleep, and a young man, whom I instantly recog- 
nized as the “wife,” lay reclining upon a transom. 

“Well, what’s the row — what’s up?” asked the 
young fellow, rising at the sight of three armed 
men. 

“We want you — ^you know what for,” said the 
messenger quietly. “Don’t make any trouble — we 
won’t stand it — come right along back with us, you 
and the other fellow there.” 

The doctor awoke, and sat up, seemingly amazed. 
He expostulated, was dum founded at the charge. 


PIRATES TWAIN 


297 


couldn’t understand it — we must all be crazy. Two 
men came from forward and joined our group. It 
was all hands, just three men and two passengers — 
five in all to work the ship. 

“Stop the engine,” I ordered, “and either come 
with us or turn the schooner back, and we’ll go with 
you.” 

They turned her around, and stood back toward 
the shore. On the way, while one of us stood guard 
over the two, the rest searched the schooner for the 
treasure, for the trunk. There was not a sign of 
gold anywhere aboard her. 

We took turns, but found nothing, leaving not a 
bolt hole unsearched. It was disheartening, and 
looked like we had lost, after all. 

“Well, what do you make of it?” I asked the mes- 
senger. 

“Looks like they got us right, after all,” he said ; 
“we haven’t the slightest clew to the money, and 
won’t get it after they once get in to the police. 
They’ll buy their way out, for there’s not the slight- 
est evidence they did the job, although I know it 
was them as well as they themselves.” 

“Plant it, you think ?” 

“Sure as death, they dropped it somewhere, and 
they only know just where. They’ll take a chance 
at going up for a spell> doing their bit, and then 
getting the cache. It’s on the course out some- 
where, but just where who knows? We’re out of 
sight of land now, and it’ll take a wizard to locate 
it on the schooner’s course.” 


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PIRATES TWAIN 


“That’s right enough,” I asserted, “but how about 
trying them for a confession?” 

“Go ahead,” he replied gloomily. 

I put it right up to the doctor. I promised him 
complete immunity if he would just tell where they 
had dropped that four hundred and odd pounds of 
gold. 

The pair simply grinned in amusement. It seemed 
to tickle them immensely. 

“And so you’d be a party to a felony?” asked the 
doctor, with great regret in his tone. “I didn’t think 
that of you, captain — you surely disappoint me 
greatly. Now, if I knew where the gold lay, I 
should tell you at once, but warn you not to touch 
it, for I don’t believe in mixing up with things of 
this sort. The men you are after must surely have 
taken the stuff on the previous voyage — or some 
other time ” 

“All right,” I interrupted, “if you want it that 
way, you’ll get it. We have enough evidence to 
send you up for twenty years at least — direct evi- 
dence.” 

“I hate to hear you take on in this terrible man- 
ner, my dear captain, but I don’t see what I can do 
about it. What makes you think I had anything to 
do with that gold?” 

It was of no use. They would not talk about it. 
I began to study the schooner’s course and try to 
figure out where in that vast area of sea they could 
have let the stuff go overboard with the certainty 
of getting hold of it again. 

In a short time we met our own boat being rowed 


PIRATES TWAIN 


299 


rapidly after us, and then we took her in tow and 
dismissed our motor boat, which had been dragging 
along at the main channels. The men had earned 
their hundred, and they departed, highly pleased at 
their luck, which represented more than a month’s 
profits fishing. 

As our boat came alongside, we were hailed joy- 
fully by Jim Sanders, the coxswain, during my ab- 
sence, and he held up a long line, at the end of 
which was fastened a small buoy. The other we 
saw was fast to the small trunk. 

“We found it all right,” said Jim. “We was 
rowing along fast after you, an’ suddenly my eye 
catches sight o’ this here float. I grabs it, and up 
comes that trunk fast to the other end in about ten 
fathoms of water. That trunk is sure some heavy, 
and I reckon it’s got the stuff in it.” 

“Very good, very good indeed,” cried the messen- 
ger. “Now things look better.” 

“Yes,” said the third officer, “this is what we are 
looking for — no mistake.” 

“Hoist it right on deck,” I said, and a line was 
passed to it. It was all two men could do to get it 
aboard. When it was safe on the deck, I went be- 
low and saw the doctor. 

“We have the trunk with the gold all safe — now, 
what have you to say?” I said. 

“Indeed?” asked the doctor, in surprise. 

“Not really, say not so,” remarked the younger 
man, in mock alarm. “Why, then you seem to have 
what you’ve been after, what you are looking for. 
If that is all, you better let us turn the ship about 


soo 


PIRATES TWAIN 


and continue our journey. Why didn’t you say you 
were looking for that trunk ?” 

A yell from the deck told me something was not 
right. I came up the companion, and looked out, 
holding my pistol ready for trouble. The messen- 
ger was standing at the side of the trunk. So also 
was Smith. 

Two men had just opened it, and had dumped a 
lot of old iron and bolts onto the deck, where they 
lay in a pile of rusty, wet junk. 

For a moment I gazed in amazement at the lit- 
tered deck. Then I smiled. 

“Do you suppose we could have made a mistake 
by any possible means?” I asked the express mes- 
senger. 

“Not by any chance, not a chance. This is a 
plant — why should they sink this trunk with a line 
and buoy to it? It proves beyond all doubt they 
have got the stuff somewhere. They dropped it, 
hoping we would stop and haul it up, and they’d 
gain just so much time by the device.” 

“Then where in Davy Jones is the swag? Where 
could they have hidden it?” 

“That’s for us to find out — I don’t know.” 

As we came in, a dozen boats came to meet us. 
The police took charge, and the two prisoners were 
ironed and taken ashore. The schooner was put in 
charge of detectives, and no one allowed aboard 
her. 

We went back to the ship in our boat, and re- 
ported the capture of the men, but the loss of the 


PIRATES TWAIN 


301 


money. Whereat Captain Hall was so angry that 
he would not speak to me that day. I .felt that I 
had done what I could and that I was not at fault. 

I could do no less — ^nor no more, for that matter. 
I went below, and the ship went on to her dock, the 
passengers were sent ashore, and the dull routine 
of the lay-up began. 

I had some time now to myself, and studied the 
situation carefully. It would be a month before the 
trial, and we would have made another voyage be- 
fore then. I was served, however, with a subpcena 
to appear as a principal witness, and I put the paper 
away and took up the study of the case with vigor. 

The three men aboard the schooner who had acted 
as crew were not in the game. That was evident, for 
they proved to be just plain fishermen who had 
chartered their craft to the doctor upon an agree- 
ment made on his former voyage. He had planned 
the coup, and made the vessel ready for the get- 
away. That was certain. The men were dis- 
charged. 

Every portion of the schooner capable of hiding 
a gold piece was thoroughly probed. Even her 
masts were bored at intervals, and she was hauled 
out and her keel searched for a hollow that might 
contain the treasure. Everything that men could do 
was apparently done. But not a sign of gold. 

The two men, the doctor and his accomplice, were 
sent to trial, and had the best lawyer in England to 
defend them, a man who did not work for small 
amounts. I noted that fact and waited. 

They were sent up for two years each solely on 


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PIRATES TWAIN 


the circumstantial evidence that they had occupied 
the room above the safe on that voyage and that if 
any one had committed the theft upon a former 
voyage it must necessarily have been discovered, as 
the safe was thoroughly cleaned and refilled with a 
new cargo of gold for that single trip. 

The schooner was sold at auction by the fisher- 
men who owned her, as they were afraid to run her 
under the continual scrutiny which the company put 
upon her. She was broken up and her gear sold 
for junk. That was the end of her. 

It was thoroughly believed that the treasure was 
planted somewhere on the course we had taken dur- 
ing the chase, and many fishermen dragged the sea 
on that line in the hope of reward. But nothing 
came of it, and a year passed. 

The time came for the doctor and his pal to get 
out, for the law which cut the prison term to one- 
half for good behavior was now in force. I 
watched the papers, and tried to keep posted, but 
nothing was printed about the convicts. 

One day the doctor and his partner came aboard 
just as we were leaving, and spoke pleasantly to me. 
They had taken second class and return to New 
York. It was pure nerve, I thought, but the regula- 
tions allowed them the privilege, as they might not, 
under the '^undesirable-citizen'' act, be allowed to 
land in the States. 

They took no pains at all to hide their identity, 
and greeted me most cordially when I met them on 
deck the first day out. I asked them about their so- 


PIRATES TWAIN 


303 


journ in Dartmoor, and they talked freely, telling 
of the rigors of prison life. 

‘‘But it is all over now,” said the doctor. “We 
will live our lives as we always have, clean, honest, 
without fear and without reproach. We were inno- 
cent, as you know.” 

“Perhaps so — but what became of the gold?” I 
asked cynically. 

“Ah, yes, the gold,” murmured the doctor. “To 
be sure there was some doubt about the — what shall 
I call it? — the disposition of the treasure that the 
robbers worked so hard for. That will always be a 
mystery.” 

I thought differently. I had by the process of 
elimination long ago come to the conclusion that the 
gold never left the ship in Europe. 

The strange way they had taken their baggage 
ashore, their ostentatious manner of taking out the 
heavy trunk and lowering it over the side in full 
view of all was evidently meant for a purpose. 

Why had they taken so much trouble to let all see 
its weight? Why had they dragged it with them 
when, after all, it contained apparently nothing but 
old iron? That it was to cover up the real effort 
of disposition was growing more and more plain 
to me, but, then, where could they have planted the 
heavy weight of gold ? 

They could not have dropped it in mid-ocean — 
that was absurd. It did not occur to me for a long 
time that the hour down the bay from New York 
out to the lightship might suffice to enable them to 


304 


PIRATES TWAIN 


cut into the through safe, which, of course, would 
not be opened until the other side was reached. 

It was upon a return voyage that an incident oc- 
curred that started my line of research upon the 
American channel. 

I noticed that in going down the bay we were 
forced — owing to the great length of the ship — 
close to the Southwest Spit Buoy. The turn here 
is abrupt, and, while the tide runs swiftly, there is 
a certainty of position always for a large ship. 

A smaller vessel might swing well out, but a ves- 
sel of the Prince s size could not. Then the idea of 
the buoys marking the line at close intervals came to 
me. It was just what they would desire for mark- 
ing their cache. 

They could make a note of ^^osition, and drop 
their swag so closely to an established position that 
there would be no trouble at all in picking it up, 
even after a year’s submersion. 

The trunk must have carried the hot-chisel outfit, 
the electrical tools for cutting, and these the burg- 
lars had tossed into the sea at the first opportunity, 
afterward filling the trunk with junk for a blind, 
feeling sure we would think it held the treasure. 

I had studied the process of cutting with an elec- 
trical jimmy, the melting of the plates, and I soon 
came to the conclusion that the job was done, fin- 
ished before the ship left soundings off Sandy Hook. 

The pair were seemingly not well supplied with 
money, and I determined to watch them after they 
got ashore. By some strange freak the inspectors 
passed them, and they disappeared in the city, leav- 
ing no trace. 


PIRATES TWAIN 


305 


“I want a two-weeks’ leave of absence,” I said to 
the old man that night, ‘‘and I want it right away — 
I’ll get the gold we lost or lose my job. I’ll take 
the third mate with me. Smith knows them.” 

There was some trouble getting officers to fill our 
berths on such short notice, but the old man had 
some faith in me, and let us go. I drew a hundred 
dollars in pay, and we went right to Brooklyn and 
chartered a fast and powerful launch. 

Then we ran over the course the ship always 
steered on her run out the main ship channel, going 
close to the Southwest Spit Buoy. 

We did not come back to town again, but re- 
mained in the boat for two days and nights, coming 
in only to get gasoline and supplies, and then keep- 
ing right on the run in and out to sea. 

It was lonesome work, and we passed many small 
boats daily, but none had the men we hoped for in 
them. 

The third evening, just about dark, we noticed a 
launch running for the red buoy at the turn of the 
channel near Sandy Hook. We both were much 
disguised, being rigged with false beards and un- 
couth clothes. 

In daylight no one would have recognized us 
thirty feet distant, and at night we might have 
talked to our best friends without detection. 

As we came in, running very slow, we noticed a 
boat with two men in her near the Southwest Spit 
Buoy. The boat had stopped, and the men were do- 
ing nothing. They seemed to be waiting for some- 
thing. 

We came past, sitting well below the gunwales of 
our craft, but watching the other boat. When we 


306 


PIRATES TWAIN 


came within fifty feet Smith sank below the coam- 
ings. 

‘‘That’s them all right,” he whispered. 

I watched the pair from the corner of my eye, and 
headed away from the vicinity, keeping well down 
in our boat, and showing nothing but the back of 
an old battered hat. 

It was the doctor and his pal, and they were at 
work. They stood back and forth across the chan- 
nel a few times, and one of them held a line towing 
astern. It was evident that they were dragging a 
grapnel over a certain part of the channel marked 
by the buoy and bearings upon Sandy Hook. 

Before we were half a mile away, they were haul- 
ing in the drag, both at it with all their strength, 
and we knew they had struck something. 

It was necessary to decide at once what to do. 
If they had the cache, we would find it; if they had 
hold of something else or were simply playing to 
throw any one off the scent, they would keep their 
secret. We decided to take the chance. 

I swung the launch around, and opened her up 
to the limit. In an instant we were flying toward 
them at fifteen miles an hour, and within two min- 
utes were in hailing distance. They saw us coming, 
and hesitated. That hesitation made me sure of our 
game. They would not let go the cache unless 
something dangerous was about to happen, the dan- 
ger of losing it altogether being too great. Smith 
jumped up, revolver in hand, as the launch came 
tearing up. 

“Hands up — stop that drag,” he yelled. “We’ve 
got you. Doctor Jackson.” 

A flash flicked the gloom, and a sharp ‘^pop” 


PIRATES TWAIN 


307 


sounded, followed by another and another. Smith 
dropped his gun, and fell into the bottom of the 
boat. 

*‘They got me,” he gasped. 

Then he raised himself upon his knees and, while 
I headed the flying craft straight for them and 
opened fire. Smith rested his revolver upon the 
coamings, and shot the doctor through the head. 

Then the launch crashed into their craft, goings 
at full speed, and her sharp nose cut straight in a 
full foot and a half before she stopped. 

The young man who had shot my third mate was 
snapping an empty gun at me as he went over the 
side into the sea. I stopped the engine, and jumped 
for him. 

He dived, but as he came up I hit him over the 
head with a boat hook that lay handy, and before he 
sank I had caught the hook into his collar and 
dragged him alongside. 

Then I lifted him into our boat, and as his face 
came close to mine I recognized him as the former 
‘‘wife” of the doctor, the robber who had masquer- 
aded as a woman and who was evidently the elec- 
trical expert of the pair, 

I passed a lashing upon him quickly, and then 
went to Smith. My poor friend and shipmate was 
gasping in pain, lying upon the boat s bottom. I 
examined him, and found two wounds, one through 
his arm and another through his chest, both bullets 
being from a high-powered automatic and having 
passed cleanly through. 

In a few minutes I had anchored the wreck of the 
launch which had swamped to the gunwales, and 
was running for the fort at the Hook, where I ar- 


308 


PIRATES TWAIN 


rived fifteen minutes later, with Smith unconscious. 

Here I turned him over to the surgeon and, get- 
ting help from the officer in charge, I ran quickly 
back to the buoy. The dead body of the doctor was 
still lying in the swamped boat, and the men re- 
moved it. 

Then I got a pull upon the drag line, and was not 
surprised to find it caught to something very heavy. 
Three men helped me haul it in, and it came slowly. 

A bight of chain appeared upon the surface. We 
caught hold of this, and hove it in also. At each 
end were iron boxes weighing at least two hundred 
and fifty pounds each. In spite of our misfortunes 
I gave a yell. It was the gold at last. 

Young Simpson told how it was done after he 
had been turned over to the authorities. He had al- 
ready been sentenced for the crime, and would 
therefore not have to suffer again, having served his 
term. 

He told glibly how they had done the job during 
the two hours they had- after the treasure room was 
closed and the ship warping out and down the chan- 
nel. The time had been ample, and the rest of the 
voyage was just to cover up, to throw us off the 
track. They had the cutting outfit in the trunk that 
had weighed so heavy, and had taken it away to 
throw overboard, which they did long before we 
^ came near them in the schooner. 

They had kept the trunk, but when they saw we 
were after them they had sunk it with a buoy, 
knowing that we would probably see it in the 
smooth sea and were aware of the old smuggler 
trick of sinking treasure down at the end of a fine 
line and small mark. 


PIRATES TWAIN 


309 


Then they had decided to make no resistance, be- 
lieving rightly that the easiest way was the best. 
They had taken their sentence based upon the cir- 
cumstantial evidence in the case, and they were just 
about to get their treasure when we nabbed them. 
They had originally intended to get it in their 
schooner at their leisure, but we had stopped that. 
The location of the buoy at the turn of the channel 
marking the run to sea was a safe place to drop any- 
thing. It would hardly be disturbed for some time. 

The heavy, small iron boxes had been made pur- 
posely for the work, and the chains connecting them 
had been long enough to cover fifty feet, or cross 
enough space to insure picking it up without delay 
when dragged for. 

The old man smiled when I reported for duty, 
but was sad at the thought of our young third offi- 
cer, who would be an invalid for many days. 

‘They are going to give him the first mate’s 
berth in the new ship to be out next season,” said 
he, ‘‘and I’m mighty glad of it — he deserves some- 
thing-" 

“That’s correct — he sure does, he worked hard, 
and took risks— and Smith is a good man anywhere, 
a good navigator also. But did you hear anything 
about me ?” I asked. 

“Sure; you’re to stay right on here — chief officer, 
but they’re going to hand you one thousand dollars 
for taking one hundred and twenty-five from the| 
bottom— don’t that satisfy you?” „ t 

“Mighty well indeed — ^mighty well indeed, I re- 
plied. “Shake, captain.” 


THE JUDGMENT OF MEN* 


1 HAD rowed in for fresh beef. The weather 
was cold, the water rough and when Wilson 
asked permission to go up town to get to- 
bacco, I let him go and made my own way to the 
ship-chandler's, where we men of the sea usually 
bought our supplies and sometimes spent an hour 
or two discussing primage freights and other things 
pertaining to shipping. 

There were two big five-masters lying just out- 
side of us in the channel and their masters were 
known to me. One of them had picked me up at sea 
from a derelict and the other was Bull Simpson, 
well known on the coast. Simpson was much given 
to gregariousness. Johnson was companionable, but 
quiet, and I knew they would be in Jackson's store 
that morning, for they would clear the next day. 

The day was in midwinter. The gloomy sky 
whipped by the nor'wester showed signs of snow. 
How one hates snow at sea ! The nasty white stuff 
making the decks like glass, hiding everything from 
view. The harbor was white with the scrape of the 
-cold wind, and the salt water froze where it struck 
’•‘Copyright, 1911, by Doubleday, Page & Co. 

310 


THE JUDGMENT OF MEN 


311 


in spray. Yes, I would go to Jackson’s store. The 
shipping looked too gloomy to contemplate any 
longer. I thought of the frozen fingers handling 
canvas stiff as tin. 

The stove, a ship’s bogie, was red hot in the back 
room. Simpson was there, long, lean and solemn. 
So was Johnson there, but he was smiling, smoking 
and so glad to be in harbor that it stuck out all over 
him. Captain Cone, master of a tramp steamer, sat 
near and warmed his fat toes, his pudgy hands red 
with frost 

''Go back, they’re all there,” grinned Jackson to 
me, as I passed the desk. "Thought you’d gone to 
sea — sech fine wedder — for gulls — what ? Go back 
an’ set in. Cap; I’ll come back for your order pres- 
ently.” 

"Hello, you look cool,” said Johnson, smiling up 
at me from his chair. 

"Glad to see you — set in,” said Simpson, making 
room for a chair near the bogie. "Shake hands 
with Captain Cone of the Prince Albert — Cone has 
a good tea-kettle for this weather — don’t you wish 
you ran a tramp? Please? No, I didn’t hear that 
last ” 

I bowed to the Captain. A captain of a tramp 
was something new to us. We seldom had any but 
sailormen in the group and British skippers were 
always looked upon as a rarity. Still they were 
always welcome. Cone stuck out his pudgy hand. 

I squeezed the fat fingers until he winced and with- 
drew them. I never cared for pudgy-handed sea- 
men — just prejudice, a meanness, but it couldn’t be 


312 


THE JUDGMENT OF MEN 


helped. We can’t help everything, we must be hu- 
man, and Cone took it good-naturedly — was way 
above such things. He showed it by spitting volu- 
minously at the bogie and remarking it was very 
cold to go to sea. 

Simpson didn’t like it at all. He showed it, 
grumbled something about Yankees and stiff-necked 
folks, then subsided while I lit up and gazed com- 
placently at Johnson. We talked of various things 
until Cone rose, buttoned his coat and went into 
the office to fill his order. Simpson glared at me 
for a moment. 

“What’s the use of being so damned short with 
the Britisher? What’s he done?” he asked. 

“It’s what he hasn’t done I object to,” I answered. 
“Stupid, heavy brute ” 

Captain Cone came back and extended his hand. 
“Good-by, Simpson — good-by, gentlemen — hope 
you’ll have better weather of it to-morrow.” 

I noticed that he held out his left hand ; it was the 
left hand that was so pudgy, so fat and soft. His 
right hand was gloved and the fingers of the glove 
were stiff, straight. 

“Good day,” I said, rising, “and good luck to 
you.” Johnson nodded also and the stranger with- 
drew, followed by Jackson who saw him to the 
door. 

“Wake up,” I said to Simpson. “Don’t think I 
meant anything, but these Britisher tramp skippers 
are the limit. High ideals! lots of feeling! Human 
as a beef and twice as heavy — after dinner. Where 
did he blow in from?” 


THE JUDGMENT OF MEN 


313 


“He came in for coals to take him to Brunswick 
— he'll load for lumber there and go back home — 
hope he’ll get a better reception than he got here — 
he’s a member of the English Masters’ Association ; 
you might have been kind to him,” said Simpson. 

“Was he the man they fired from the Association 
last month? Seems to me I heard of a Cone — seems 
like he was accused of brutality or something, lacks 
humanity — ^looks like it, anyway,” said Johnson. 

“Yes, he was fired — yes — by God, he was,” 
snapped Simpson, “and it was just such judgment 
that gets lots of good men into trouble. ‘Lacked 
human sentiment’ — lacked human sentiment — well, 
that’s a charge for you ! Hell ! you fellows get nar- 
rower and narrower — I happen to know Cone, knew 
him years ago — he was fired for losing the Cham- 
pion — ‘lacked human sentiment,’ bah ! Oh, now you 
remember him, heh?” 

“Yes, we remember him — the man who lost a 
fine ship in collision in a clear night,” said I, with 
something of a sneer. “But that wasn’t the worst 
of it ” 

“Yes, you read the damned papers — you got a 
fine idea of it all,” snapped Simpson. The old sea- 
man turned and spat viciously at the bogie as if the 
poor old stove, red-hot, had done him some. grievous 
wrong. Then he turned scornfully to Johnson. 

“You remember the Champion? You know some- 
thing about her, you ain’t so damned stuck about 
yourself. I happened to be aboard of her the day 
she sailed, talking to Redding, her chief mate — 
Redding, that was lost in the Arctic — yes. Redding 


314 


THE JUDGMENT OF MEN 


was as straight as a string — and he told me the de- 
tails of that accident after he came from the hos- 
pital — ^too late. He was nearly a year in the insane 
ward from a blow that smashed his head, but he 
told me about Cone. 

‘‘Yes, it was Cone who left his wife — so they 
said — left her, deserted her and the children. It 
was Cone who acted in every disgraceful way the 
old women tell about, Cone who raised hell and paid 
the devil wherever he went. Cone who only got 
command of the Champion after pulling shares and 
playing the game for all it was worth — ^no, don’t 
tell me — don’t, I say — I don’t want to hear about 
what he did. I’ll tell you how he lost the ship, and 
you say you’ll believe anything poor Redding said 
— 60 would I. If there was truth in any man it was 
in Dan Redding — poor devil.” 

“Yes,” I assented, “Redding was all right.” 

Simpson scorned to notice me. He talked at 
Johnson, or rather talked at me through Johnson, 
over him, and — Simpson could talk, talk like an 
Admiralty lawyer with two noggins of rum under 
his ribs. Jackson came in and took Cone’s vacated 
chair. He rubbed his hands. Cone had been a good 
buyer, had needed plenty of stuff — and he got it at 
the highest rates. Jackson approved of Redding 
also, approved of iiim for the sake of memory — 
Redding had always paid a full bill — never asked 
rake-off, pourboire, “graft,” or other money from 
him. 

“You heard all that stuff about Cone, too,” said 
Simpson, sneeringly at Jackson; “and I dare say 


THE JUDGMENT OF MEN 


615 


you believe it like a good old woman you are, but 
I’ll tell you just how he lost the ship — if you believe 
Redding. 

“They cleared at daylight, bound for St. John’s — 
had twenty passengers first class and about seventy 
second — no steerage those days. Redding said the 
weather was hell and something worse from the 
time they dropped the land, and you men know how 
it is on the coast in the winter time. The old Cham- 
pion came across and poked her nose into the fog 
bank off Sable Island — bad place? Well, I reckon 
it is. Bad because you can’t tell where the devil you 
are and can’t keep any kind of reckoning in that 
current. That Sable Island bank is nearly as bad as 
Hatteras for us windjammers. 

“Cone slowed his ship that last morning — accord- 
ing to Redding — slowed her down to a few knots, 
made the passengers keep off the decks in order to 
have peace and quiet aboard. One old lady didn’t 
like it at all. She insisted she had a right to go 
where she pleased aboard — told the skipper so to 
his face and dared him to put her below. Some of 
the other women folks followed her example — did 
Cone do it? Well, he just called his quartermaster 
and told him to remove the objectionable old 
women, told him to carry them below if necessary 
— and that square-head did. Yes, sir, he just picked 
up the leader and carried her off in his arms while 
she screamed and clawed him, calling to the men 
to save her from the brutal assault. 

“Oh, yes, he got a nice name for that. The pas- 
sengers told how he acted, told how he brutally 


316 


THE JUDGMENT OF MEN 


made his men remove innocent and unoffending fe- 
males — oh, what^s the use? He 'was a brute and 
they made it out plain — it was all published in the 
papers. 

''It was along about five o’clock and the sun must 
have been well along to the nor’west horizon, tho’ 
of course he couldn’t see it in the fog — that a horn 
blared out faintly right ahead. The man on look- 
out heard it — for it was now quiet on deck — and 
the siren roared out its reply. Then he got a faint 
blow right off his starboard bow, a blow as if from 
a small fishing schooner. He kept along blowing 
regular blasts, kept along very slow. 

"Right out of the setting sun a bit of wind 
seemed to make. It lifted the bank enough to show 
him a four-masted ship standing right into him not 
two hundred feet from his bow. She was heeling 
with the growing breeze and going about six knots 
or better with just a white bone across her forefoot. 
Cone rang off his engines. 

"It is in these moments, you know, that things 
happen. Had Cone rang ahead full speed like Cham- 
bers did in the old Lawrence, rang and shoved into 
her full swing, he would have either gone clear or 
cut out enough to give her his stern on the turn and 
probably not sink either ship. He kept to the rules 
by British force of habit of abiding by them — and, 
well, the Potoniack, under three skysails and shov- 
ing along with four thousand tons of cargo in her, 
hit him fair upon the side while he was swinging to 
port. The ship’s jibboom reached over and drove 
a hole through the deckhouse first, poked right 


THE JUDGMENT OF MEN 


317 


through and ripped off his blowoff pipe, letting the 
steam come roaring out of her, and then the heavy 
forefoot sunk like a wedge fair in her, right in the 
wake of her engines. It was the worst possible 
place to get it — you know that — right in the wake 
of the engines and close enough to the engine-room 
bulkhead to smash it so it was useless. Then it 
cut, shore down under the water line, and there he 
was with a hole in him big enough to drive in a 
trolley car, a hole and nothing but the forward bulk- 
heads to hold him up — no, he was badly hit, hit 
right in the vitals, and the roar of the steam told 
him plainly that the ship was going to be put to it 
to float. 

‘‘Then came the usual panic. 

“Cone tried to stop it, tried to stem the tide of 
passengers. His officers were good, but Redding 
was hit on the head by a block from the maingaff 
vang and while Cone was trusting to him to take 
charge aft, he set to work forward to get the boats 
out in ship-shape and seamanlike order. His second 
was a new man — Billings — a blue-nose he knew 
nothing about, but a good enough fellow to take 
charge. He and the third officer stood the crowd 
back for a time and got the port boats over. 

“You see, it was smooth and there wouldn’t have 
been much trouble, but the passengers had a grouch 
against Cone, hated him. The women thought him 
a brute and the men had heard so much from them 
about his private life, his affairs, his general ras- 
cality, they wouldn’t stand it any longer. They 
rushed it and two were shot, one fell overboard and 


S18 


THE JUDGMENT OF MEN 


another was badly hurt. These were the only casual- 
ties — strange, wasn’t it? Only passengers hurt 
were those who were trying to save themselves from 
the brutal and overbearing Cone. 

“The Champion settled quickly by the head, her 
nose getting well down. This had the evil tendency 
of lifting her stern so high that the boats couldn’t 
be handled easily. It stopped the flow of the sea to 
a certain extent, but it was too late to do anything 
to help that now. The fireroom force came up, they 
were literally drowned out, forced to quit, and the 
engineers came forward and told of the useless 
steam — not enough to run the pumps. Then Cone 
knew it was get away while he could. 

“Cone stood on the port side of the flying bridge, 
stood there and roared out his orders, wondering 
why Redding didn’t respond to the work cut out aft. 
He saw no boats going over where Redding should 
be tending to them, and when the crowd finally 
surged forward he had to let them come, had to let 
them get into the boats there. Oh, yes, he was 
charged with not holding them back, not being able 
to command his ship, but man, he had to let them 
come forward, it was only the fighting ones who 
insisted in getting first places and taking charge that 
got hurt. 

“The Potomack lay to and sent in her boats, sent 
in four big whaleboats and one dinghy. The water 
wasn’t rough — any good boat would live a long time 
— and Cone let them take off his passengers as fast 
as they could. He was well scored for it afterward ; 
they told how he couldn’t do it himself, and if it 


THE JUDGMENT OF MEN 


319 


hadn’t been for the Potomack he would have lost all 
his passengers. 

“When the Champion settled Cone was still stand- 
ing there on the bridge, standing there and he knew 
what it meant to him. 

“ ‘You’d better go along, sir,’ said Billings, ‘we’re 
going in the next boat.’ 

“But Cone just looked at him for a minute, just 
stood there watching things and saw the last pas- 
senger get away. 

“ ‘You hound,’ the fellow yelled, ‘you cowardly 
rascal — you insulter of women!’ 

“You see, passengers get excited in such cases, 
get to lose their heads. Cone never even looked at 
him, never took his eyes from the settling ship. 

“The engineer force had gone, the only men left 
aboard were the quartermasters and mates. Cone 
spoke to Billings. 

“ ‘Get Redding and the rest — get in the boat, I’ll 
come along in a moment.’ 

“The Champion was settling fast now. The roar 
of the steam and air from between decks was 
deafening. Billings didn’t quite get the words, but 
he knew he was told to go — and he went. The third 
officer found Redding lying with a broken head and 
dragged him to the side, lowered him down and 
started after him. Just as he did this, there was a 
ripping noise from below. It was like a tearing sort 
of explosion, a rending. Cone had disappeared 
from the bridge and they waited no longer but 
shoved clear. At that instant the Champion surged 
ahead, lifted her stern and dropped — she was gone. 


S20 


THE JUDGMENT OF MEN 


‘‘The suction whirled about, sucked the boat first 
one way and then another, bringing her right over 
the foundering ship. Billings saw a form jammed 
under the topmast backstay, saw a hand clutching 
something white and he reached for it as the top- 
mast went under. 

‘It was Cone. It was the skipper. 

“They hauled him into the boat and he still 
clutched that thing in his hand. He had been drawn 
under, been badly strangled and he was unconscious, 
but his hand hold was firm and no one took notice 
of what he held. It was the photograph of a 
woman. 

“Billings didn’t know anything about him ; didn’t 
know but what the tales told were true — so he took 
the thing away from him and said nothing about it ; 
but Redding knew. Redding knew after he saw it 
— months afterward when it was shown him — too 
late to stop the nasty stories — oh, yes, it was the pic- 
ture of his wife. 

“Of course, Cone was living alone, had many 
affairs — so they said — and it would not do to drag 
a woman into his ugly life. He had gone into his 
room to get it — the picture — gone in to get it with 
that ship sinking under him, the unsentimental and 
brutal Cone — oh, well, what’s the use? 

“Yes, his hand was jammed between the backstay 
and the mast and Billings just got him clear in time 
— funny, is it? Well, I don’t know, some men 
wouldn’t have been so particular over a photograph, 
would have used both their hands to fight clear with 
— what ? But then, that’s what you call sentiment. 


THE JUDGMENT OF MEN 


321 


No, you wouldn’t expect it from Cone, wouldn’t ex- 
pect to find it in a seaman with ruddy cheeks and 
quiet manner, soft and a bit fat ” 

“No,” said Jackson, “you wouldn’t expect a thing 
like that from Captain Cone — that’s right.” 

“No, you expect sentiment from the thin, poet- 
ical, big-eyed, tender men, the men who slush and 
slobber it over at all occasions. You find women 
looking for it in the tender talkers, the soft-spoken, 
the amorous — oh, hell ! did you ever see a man who 
looked the part — what ?” 

“I’ve sometimes had my doubts concerning he- 
roes,” said Johnson, “but they are — the real ones — 
generally most common-looking, most quiet and un- 
assuming ; but that Cone — well, he is a hard dose to 
swallow, and that’s a fact.’* 

“Well, treat him decently when he comes back,” 
said Simpson. 

Some years later I met Cone at the dinner given 
by the Manager of the Southern Fruit Company to 
the Captains of the West India fleet who ran the 
steamers chartered under contract to fill the winter 
schedule. There were as usual many British vessels 
in the trade, some Norwegian and a few American, 
including myself. 

Cone had passed entirely out of my ken and this 
time I took his hand with the feeling that perhaps 
I had done the man an injustice by the human judg- 
ment passed upon him. He was a very old man now 
and his hand was still in a glove to hide the defor- 
mity which the accident had caused. He looked 


622 


THE JUDGMENT OF MEN 


very much the kindly old-time shipmaster, bright of 
eye and vigorous to the last. He sat near me and 
remained silent during the opening of the some- 
what formal repast. The Manager had been dis- 
cussing some subject, for he seemed to wish to fol- 
low it at once. 

thing’s either right or wrong,” said the Man- 
ager didactically, as he looked over the gathering. 
He paused for the effect of his words to be felt. He 
loved platitudes, although the leading man in his 
business and a millionaire. “A thing is either right 
or wrong,” he repeated, ‘‘and a man is either right 
or wrong. There’s a difference between them as 
plain as between black and white.” 

Captain Cone squirmed in his chair. He had lis- 
tened to this sort of thing before from the Manager. 
The Company, the greatest shipping firm in the 
whole world, had paid him his salary, given him his 
liner and here was the Manager setting forth again 
against the manner of trusted employees who should 
know these self-evident truths. He interrupted. 

“In fifty-five years spent knocking about the 
world upon every sea, I’ve come to a different con- 
clusion,” said he quietly. 

It was so different from the usual applause, the 
applause which had already started and which would 
follow the Manager’s splendid appreciation of the 
obvious. Several diners — there were twelve at the 
table — looked up quickly and wondered at the Cap- 
tain. 

“What — what do you mean ?” asked the Manager 
softly, amazed at the interruption. He had been 


THE JUDGMENT OF MEN S23 

coming to a point where he expected to hurl a 
smashing argument against the methods of some 
men who handled millions, and here he had been 
held up by a Captain, an employee of his Company. 
There was a silence, awkward, impressive— and the 
old seaman felt it, causing him to blush through his 
mahogany tan. He had committed himself, and 
he was essentially a modest man. 

“I don’t know exactly how to explain,” said the 
Captain slowly. ‘‘These questions of human analy- 
sis are so very subtle, so elusive — I am only a sailor- 
man after all, and perhaps I see things differently 
from the view taken by landsmen. There is much 
in the point of view. But it seems that I am still 
reasonable, still logical — and I am able to perform 
my duties even though I’m seventy.” 

He paused, passed his brown hand across his 
grizzled forehead, where the hair still hung thickly. 
Then he let it drop slowly down over his beard and 
his eyes seemed to have an introspective look. He 
spoke very slowly and with considerable hesitation 
as one not used to the ready flow of language, 
words every one of which had a meaning. 

“There was a small matter,” he continued, “which 
called my attention to the human judgment. I don’t 
know how to tell it, but — well, you remember Jones, 
Captain Jones, who had an interest in the oil ships? 
Yes; well, I was thinking of him. 

“Jones was one of the first oil carriers. That 
was before the Standard took charge. I had sailed 
with him as mate long before the war. He got a 
great tank ship — lost her. Then came the squeeze 


324 


THE JUDGMENT OF MEN 


of the Consolidated, then the death of competition 
— and, well, Jones lost one thing after another. 
Froze out. They made him watchman at the office, 
made him night watchman, a man who had once run 
a ten-thousand-ton oiler, a man who had made them 
millions by his care and industry. Then he sank to 
the gutter and on forty dollars a month he tried to 
wrest a living for seven children — four of them 
girls. You know the old story, the sordid details. 
Jones had to take on liquor once in a while. He 
would have gone mad without a drunk at least once 
a month. He figured that it was best to get drunk 
than go mad, best for his family. It’s all well 
enough to talk, for the chicken-souled loafers who 
preach to their flocks and then get their living 
through the generosity of silly women, to call poor 
Jones a drunken reprobate, a useless loafer, because 
he drank. But the red-hearted men, the men who* 
knew him, knew what he was suffering, knew what 
weight was pulling him down. In two years he 
never bought a suit of clothes. He never spent any- 
thing upon himself — except at certain times he felt 
that he must undergo relaxation, must get away 
from himself — then he would get drunk, very 
drunk. 

‘*His wife — oh, yes, he had his wife. She knew 
him, knew what he had gone through — she saw he 
got enough money for rum, helped him, stinted her- 
self, slaved, worked — well, she did everything a 
poor, high-spirited woman could do.” 

Cone paused, took a drink, a mere sip, from his 
glass of water, then pushed it from him. The kx)ks 


THE JUDGMENT OF MEN 


325 


of the guests annoyed him. A prohibitionist from 
Maine glared at him and made him uncomfortable. 
There was a half-suppressed sneer upon the lips of 
the Manager, but he was a gentleman — and a host. 

‘‘Yes — I was speaking of his wife,” he went on. 
“She helped him, held him up with a mighty soul, a 
tremendous strength for a woman. All through the 
dark and gloomy life he led, sleeping in the daytime 
and wandering about the desolate offices at night, 
she was always ready, always willing to lend a hand, 
steadying, guiding, always sound in judgment and 
above all ready at all times to make any sacrifice for 
either him or the children — yes, she was a great 
woman — may the God of the sea hold her gently 
where she lies in its bosom — dead? Oh, yes, she 
died long ago. The worst of the affair came about 
when Jones fell sick. He finally broke down under 
the awful strain, couldn’t stand it — no, the liquor 
didn’t hurt him, he was used to that. It was the de- 
spair, the dead weight of crushed hopes, the knowl- 
edge of an old man unable to make good against the 
tide, the tide which was sweeping his children down 
to hell. The oldest girl was twenty and forced to 
work at a place where — well, never mind, it was the 
same old sordid story of a young woman staying, 
sticking out at a place where it was impossible Tor 
her to come out as she went in. Ruin, and hell for 
her afterward — convention, we call it — but what’s 
the use ? She was the old man’s favorite, and it hit 
him very hard, very hard indeed. 

“Yes, I remember it very well. Poor old Jones, 
captain of a ten-thousand-ton ship, owner of a quar- 


326 


THE JUDGMENT OF MEN 


ter interest in one of the biggest commercial enter- 
prises in the world — six children and a wife starv- 
ing on forty dollars a month and the seventh child — 
yes, it was pretty bad, especially bad for Jones, for 
he had done nothing to deserve his fate, nothing but 
fight a combination which knew no mercy. The 
relentless, implacable cruelty of corporations is well 
enough known to you gentlemen. Their laws are 
like the laws of Nature — transgress them and you 
must die. The laws of life are supposed to be just, 
therefore it is probable that those of some corpora- 
tions are so likewise — I don't know. But they had 
smashed Jones. Crushed him down — yes, there he 
was at forty a month, trying to forget, trying to do 
something to keep his family alive, and then under 
the heaviest strain he broke one day — broke and 
went down." 

Many of the guests at the Manager's table had 
now resumed their poise. Some at the farther end 
resumed conversation, overlooking the story-teller 
and wondering a little at his bad form to monopo- 
lize the talk of the complaisant dinner humor. But 
some of the men nearest the Manager still listened 
and the old Captain watched them with his dark 
bright eyes, eyes which seemed to sparkle like dia- 
monds in the light. They were the eyes which had 
pointed the way to many millions of dollars' worth 
of cargo, many thousand passengers, and they 
watched over them through many a wild and stormy 
night upon the bridge of his ship in mid-ocean 
where the mind has much time to ponder over the 
methods, the ethics of the commercial human. 


THE JUDGMENT OF MEN 


32T 

“I found him at the hospital/' went on Cone. 
‘‘He was shaky, but he fought his weakness back 
and went home at the end of two weeks to find his 
wife down with pneumonia and the house full of 
famished children.” 

Cone stopped speaking for a moment and gazed 
across the table at the polished buffet, seeming to 
see something in the mirror back of it. The Man- 
ager looked up, saw his gaze and spoke : 

“I know there’s lots of hardships, Captai’n,” said 
he, “and I don’t lay it all to the drink habit. Let 
your glass be filled — what?” 

“Pardon me,” said the old seaman. “I am old 
and forgetting my story — I was just thinking a bit. 
This is not a temperance lecture at all — no, no, that 
is not what I was thinking of.’^ And he gazed at 
the prohibitionist across the board who was finger- 
ing his napkin. 

“No, the thing that I was coming to is this. Jones 
found things in a desperate condition at his home. 
He must have money. It was an absolute necessity 
to have medical attendance at once for his wife, and 
he dreaded the free ward of the hospitals — he had 
gone into one once himself and knew what it meant. 
He must have money for his children.” 

“A man might steal under those conditions with- 
out being very bad,” interrupted a man sitting next 
to him. 

“That isn’t what he did,” said the old Captain. 
“He met a friend on the street while on his way to 
a pawnshop — and the friend heard his tale. His 
friend was a bank messenger, at least he was carry 


S28 


THE JUDGMENT OF MEN 


ing the proceeds of a ship’s cargo in a bag. You 
see, in those days, captains were allowed to collect 
freights at certain points, being in the companies, 
and these moneys were carried aboard the ship until 
she reached her home port. Sometimes there were 
many thousand dollars. This friend had been with 
Jones in the old days and he knew his history. The 
money he carried was freights from an oil ship 
just arrived. There was fifteen thousand dollars of 
it in gold, and it was the property of the very cor- 
poration which had squeezed Jones and ruined him. 
Well, the friend did the obvious, did the human 
thing. He opened the bag and gave Jones just five 
hundred dollars in gold and then went along to try 
and fix the matter up with the firm — it required 
lying — that is bad; it required many other things 
which we will not discuss here, but they are emi- 
nently bad, bad as they can be — and by dint of 
lying, and pilfering, and — well, the friend made 
good the loss without ever getting found out — yes, 
a horrible example, I admit. He made good the 
five hundred and no one ever knew he was a thief.' 
No one knows to this day — except — anyway, Jones 
saved his wife, and at the end of the money the 
friend helped him to buy into a schooner and he 
got command. They paid twenty-five per cent, in 
those days and he pulled out making enough to save 
the rest from abject poverty.” 

‘‘But you don’t mean you approve of that fellow, 
that thief who appropriated other people’s money, 
his employers’ money, do you?” asked the Manager 
in amazement. “The thing for him to have done 


THE JUDGMENT OF MEN 


3S9 


was to have gone to the firm and stated the case, 
told of the poverty of Jones, told how he should be 
helped. No human being would have refused him.” 

“On the contrary, the friend did just those things 
— afterward — and as I said before, corporations 
know no laws but their own. They are relentless 
as the laws of Nature, as implacable as the laws 
of health. Go where there is cholera, get the germ 
into your system, and you will understand what I 
mean. No human feeling, no sympathy — nothing 
will save you but your own powers of resistance. 
You will necessarily die unless you can stand it. 
Most people die. And it may be right to have 
things this way — I don’t know, I don’t set up as a 
judge; I am a sailor. But I am human — and I 
don’t hate my neighbor, I don’t look upon my friend 
as my enemy. Perhaps I am wrong. Still the thief 
in this case suffered much. He was for years 
afraid of being found out. That shows the whole 
horrible futility of it all. He suffered more than 
Jones, for Jones knew from where the money came, 
knew it was money which by his judgment should 
have gone to him anyway. Jones refused to pay it 
back and wanted to publish the fact that he had 
gotten even with the corporation to the extent of 
five hundred dollars. 

“Of course, he didn’t do it. The friend per- 
suaded him not to, and when he went into the 
coaster he forgot to talk about it even when under 
the effects of his drinks. 

“You see, it was about that time the insurance 
troubles came about. Marine insurance had a turn- 


830 


THE JUDGMENT OF MEN 


ble owing to the loss of several heavy ships and 
other matters not worth discussing now. You were 
badly hit yourself, I believe,” — and the old Captain 
nodded to the Manager, who smiled acquiescence — 
‘‘you told me at the time — if I remember rightly — 
that one more vessel gone and you would go to the 
wall. 

“The friend owned shares in that schooner, 
owned more than half of her, and he it was that let 
her go out, made her go to sea after her policies 
ran out. He would not stop her carrying, for it 
meant laying her up and Jones would have to go 
ashore again until things straightened out. It was 
the hurricane season and she had to go light to 
Cuba. 

“I remember something of the affair, for I hap- 
pened to be on the dock when she sailed. Jones 
was standing aft giving orders, and his wife, with 
her three daughters, were below in the cabin. It 
was a pretty picture of commercial life, a picture of 
a man doing his work with his family or part of it 
around him, and I almost envied him his place. 
What does an old liner skipper ever have of do- 
mestic life? Never gets home, never sees his wife 
but once or twice a year, and the company never 
lets her go aboard the ship at all if they can help 
it. Well, she sailed out that August day, and the 
next thing we heard of him was that his schooner 
was driven ashore during a gale. She rammed up 
on one of the Bahamas, Castle Rock, I believe, and 
then broke up. Some of the crew and his daughters 
were saved — he and his wife went down — lost be- 
fore they could get them ashore. 

“And so there it is — did the men do all that was 


THE JUDGMENT OF MEN 


S31 


right or did they do all that was wrong? That’s 
the question. Where is the line of demarkation, 
where does the wrong leave off and right begin, or 
how is the mixture to be sifted down? We go by 
rules, we must play according to rules or the game 
becomes chaos. But do the rules always hold, do 
they always cover every emergency ? I don’t know, 
but I believe there is bad, or what is called bad, in 
all men, also there is good — it depends upon the 
man — not the rule.” 

There was a long pause. The Manager gazed 
curiously at his guest. 

‘‘You say the schooner went ashore on Castle 
Rock?” 

“I said — well, it was somewhere about there, I 
don’t know exactly,” replied the old seaman, an- 
noyed. 

“There never was a wreck on Castle Rock that I 
ever heard of,” said the Manager, eying the old 
Captain curiously, “but there was the Hattie Davis 
that was lost on the Great Inagup Bank — she wasn’t 
insured, I believe.” 

“Yes, she was lost on the Great Inagua,” assented 
the Captain, leaning back, as though the story were 
closed. 

“You had a large interest in her, I believe,” said 
the Manager slowly, “and I recollect, now, you lost 
all in her ” 

“The light was not so good as it is now,” quickly 
put in the old seaman. “It used to show only in 
clear weather — and it’s almost always clear through 
the passage — I remember how the passengers used 
to be glad when we entered the passage coming up 
from Cuba in the old Panama ships— rough in the 


SS2 


THE JUDGMENT OF MEN 


tumble off Maysi when the wind holds nor’east for 
a spell/' 

The Manager was gazing at the old skipper 
strangely. Then he suddenly turned and started to 
discuss other matters with his guests. The dinner 
went along without incident and afterward we arose 
to go to the smoking-room for our cigars. 

‘‘Come along with me, Cone,” said the Manager, 
“I have a new orchid I picked up I want to show 
you; you always liked flowers, you know.” After- 
ward I passed them and overheard the Manager say- 
ing in a low tone — “Well, you always had a hell of 
a reputation. Cone, anyway, but under the circum- 
stances — well, there might be some sort of justifica- 
tion. You are too full of that damned sentiment 
for any business whatever. Still, Til admit that it 
isn’t so much what a man does that matters — that 
is, it doesn’t matter so much as how it is done — and 
who does it.” 

And so this was Cone ? This was the master who 
had earned a reputation for some very queer things 
as seamen see them. I remember the old days, the 
words of poor old Simpson who had long gone to 
the port of missing ships. Sentimental Captain 
Cone, stout, grizzled, bronzed, the man who lost his 
hand holding to the picture of a wife w^ho had been 
false to him and who had accused him of many 
things too hard to print. It was strange. 

I suddenly felt I would like to see Simpson, to 
acknowledge he was not so far wrong after all. 

“The judgment of man is not good,” I said in an- 
swer to some question relative to nothing concern- 
ing Cone, and with this platitude upon my lips I 
went home. 


ON GOING TO SEA 


W E sat together upon the quarter-deck un- 
der the awning of the Harvest Queen. 
My own ship lay in the berth opposite, 
and I had come over for a quiet smoke with Cap- 
tain Large. He sailed in the morning, and was 
bound for Frisco around Cape Horn. I would not 
see him again for a year or two — ^probably never; 
but he and I had sailed together and I had been his 
mate. We talked of things, confidences, the talk 
of old shipmates who know each other very well, 
and who are passing to know each other as mem- 
ories. I had shipped five apprentices, two sons of 
prominent men in the shipping circles of New York, 
and I wondered at the outcome. 

“I never take them any more,’’ said Large. “I 
took one out of here a few years ago, and — well, I 
don’t care to repeat the job.” 

‘Tut the boys are good — signed on regular — 
what can they do?” I asked. 

“I don’t know, but I’ll tell you what one did in 
the Wildwood when I took him to China. I don’t 
know how to explain it. The strangeness of it all, 
the peculiar development that came about under 
seeming natural causes — ^hereditary, you will say, 
and perhaps that is right. I have often studied it 
over, often lain awake in my bunk wondering at it 
all, what peculiar ideas grew in a brain that was 
83S 


ON GOING TO SEA 


SS4 

almost human — almost, for when you think of what 
he did you cannot believe he was quite so, even 
though his father was the President of the Marine 
Association and had commanded the best American 
ships in his day/^ The old skipper sat quiet for 
some minutes and seemed to be thinking, studying 
over some problem. His cigar shone like a spark 
in the warm night, but the smoke was invisible. I 
waited. Apprentices were new to me. I had not 
had much chance to study the training of youth. 
My own way had been rough. I had at last gotten 
my ship after a life of strenuous endeavor and 
often desperate effort, and I wanted to learn all I 
could. Men I knew. I had handled them by and 
large from every part of the globe, and discipline, 
iron discipline, was a thing my ship was noted for. 
She had a bad name. 

‘‘You see,’^ said Large, his deep voice booming 
softly in the night, “there is something intangible 
that a human being inherits from his forbears. 
We look at the successful man as a target to aim 
at, an idol we point out for youth to emulate. We 
don’t always analyze the greatness. A successful 
man is often so from the stress he puts upon others. 
He will not stay in equilibrium. He keeps going 
on up, up beyond the place his own production en- 
titles him. He becomes predatory, but unlike wolves 
or felines he preys upon his own kind. 

“When President Jackson of the Bengal Line 
asked me to take Willie, his son, I did so with the 
feeling that it was an honor conferred upon me, 
the captain of one of the ships. Jackson had earned 


ON GOING TO SEA 


335 


his position by his own efforts and fought his way 
up to the top. I remembered him well enough 
when he was a master, but he was now President 
of the Line. He had a very sinister reputation in 
the old ships, but that was all forgotten now. 

“Willie came aboard looking like a physical 
wreck. He was a slight youth of fifteen, stoop- 
shouldered, pale of face, but with the eye of his 
father, and the peculiar settling of the corners of 
his mouth noticeable in the old man. ‘Be sure you 
bring him back safely,’ said his father, giving me 
a look I long remembered. ‘Be sure you take good 
care of him — and bring him back.’ I didn’t quite 
know what he meant. I don’t yet ; but I know why 
he said it. I began to think of it before we were 
at sea a week. 

“Yes, he was only a boy, a mere lad, but he was 
all of his father — his father as we remembered him 
in the South Sea. Degenerate ? He was the 
ablest lad of his size I ever saw. He stood right 
there on the main deck the day we went out and 
took little or no notice of him while the tug had 
our line. He was signed on, mind you, signed on 
regular, so as not to excite the comment of ‘pull.’ 
Hell ! why do they send boys to sea when the shore 
is the place to train them? He stood there and 
saw me looking at him, thinking of the words ‘be 
sure and bring him back’ — yes, I would. 

“ ‘Say, Cap, dis is fine. Let’s put de rags on 
her an’ let her slide. I wants to see her slip erlong 
— t’hell wid towin’, says me,’ and he came up the 
poop steps on the starboard side to chat with me — 


336 


ON GOING TO SEA 


a thing no one, as you know, can do aboard a ship 
without a reprimand. Every one heard him talk- 
ing to me. He yelled it out in a shrill voice — ^yes, 
talking to me, the captain, on the poop. ‘See here, 
young man,’ I said to him, ‘you mustn’t talk to 
me while I’m on deck. Go down on the main deck, 
and when you want anything you ask the mate — 
he will talk with you or get you what you want — 
you understand? It’s not the thing to ever speak 
to the captain of a ship without permission.’ 

“ ‘Aw, f ergit it, cully ! Don’t youse make no 
mistake erbout me. I spoke fair an’ civil to youse, 
an’ if youse don’t want to answer you kin go to 
hell, you stuck-up old fool! D’ye git that right?’ 
he said shrilly. 

“Well, you can imagine what that sounded like 
to the men. Twenty of them were grinning and 
both mates aghast. I was the master, a man known 
the world over as a ‘driver.’ There was nothing 
to do but take the lad in hand at once. 

“ ‘Take him forward and rope’s-end him,’ I said 
to Bowles, the second officer, a man weighing two 
hundred pounds and a ‘bucko’ of the strongest type. 
You remember him, the toughest mate afloat? 

“But Willie looked up at me with a sneer. 

“ ‘You try it, you sea loafer. I’ll sweat youse 
fer it if youse do. You ain’t de whole thing 
aboard here. Youse don’t know me, I guess.’ 

“I had to do it. The affair had gone too far. 
Bowles grabbed him by the collar and lifted him 
off his feet, and he let out a scream like a wildcat — 
a most unearthly shriek. Bowles whipped him 


ON GOING TO SEA 


337 


good and hard, tanned him so he could scarcely sit 
down; but he just cursed and swore at the officer, 
telling him what he’d do to him afterward. He 
got an extra lick or two for this. Bowles paid no 
attention, but went back to his station to attend 
lines. Half an hour later he was standing at the 
rail when I saw a form shoot out of the galley 
door and drive a long knife into his back. He 
sank down without a word, and Willie stood over 
him ready for the finish. The mate knocked him 
down with a belaying pin before he could kill. 

‘Tt was a terrible thing, an awful state of af- 
fairs beginning within five minutes after the tug 
had let go. It was uncanny. A young boy doing 
such things aboard a ship. I would have put him 
ashore at once, but remembered the articles he had 
signed and the words of the president of the line. I 
hesitated and the opportunity was lost •” 

‘T would have made another,” I interrupted. ‘T 
would have sent the young villain to prison at once. 
No good could possibly happen from such an agree- 
ment, no good come from a horrible little devil like 
that.” 

‘T don’t know. I don’t quite know yet what to 
make of it all. According to the usual rule there 
could be no good from a boy who would delib- 
erately commit such a crime; but we men who 
know life, the real life, know that rules are not 
good to follow. You know that. I’ve tried to 
figure it all out, but there is no answer, no account- 
ing for the strangeness of character that develop 
under certain conditions. We tied Willie up while 


338 


ON GOING TO SEA 


he was unconscious from the blow of the pin, and 
instead of putting Bowles ashore we endeavored 
to bring him around. I took him aft and sewed up 
the cut. It was an awful wound, but Bowles was 
a very strong man. It took a month before he 
could get about the deck again. We had run clear 
to the equator. 

*‘In the meantime Willie had had another run in, 
and I had him brought aft to have a little talk with 
him, to try and explain to him how a ship must be 
run, the iron discipline and the custom of the mas- 
ter not to associate with any one, either boy or man, 
from forward. 

** ‘Aw, cut it out, cully — cut de langwidge ! It 
don’t go none wid me — see? I comes aboard dis 
ship an’ gets it in de neck de foist round. Den I 
slings inter de bloke wot does the trick — ’n by 
rights I ought ter take a fall outer youse. Cap — 
’n I’ve a good mind to do it, too. Dem sea tricks 
don’t go none wid me.’ 

“ ‘But don’t you know I could hang you if I 
wanted to? Don’t you know my word is law 
here? I am in absolute command. If you don’t 
follow the rules of the ship I’ll have to punish you 
severely.’ 

“ ‘Nothin’ doin’. Bo, nothin’ doin’ at all. Youse 
kin cut all that sort o’ talk out when youse chins 
wid me — see ? Say, Bo, whatcher take me fer, any- 
ways? Er “come on,” er what? Whatcher t’ink I 
am, anyways, hey? Go tell de little choild stories 
to yer gran’mother — don’t spring dem on me, don’t 
try to hand me nothin’ funny — I’m a MAN 1 An’ 


ON GOING TO SEA 


SS9 

don’t youse t’ink youse kin take de call of me, 
neider, Bo, fer youse makes a mistake mixin’ it wid 
me! I’m a fightin’ MAN — me fader’ll tell youse 
dat, an’ dat’s why he sends me wid youse when I 
might be goin’ to school. De old man is a lulu, 
an’ I am his son, Bo, a son of a dog — nothin’ yaller 
in de breed; ’n if youse t’ink you kin razzle-dazzle 
me you’ll sure fall down. Youse take dat from me,, 
Bo! D’youse git it straight?’ 

“ *I’ll turn you loose if you’ll promise to do the 
right thing from now on,’ I said. 

“ ‘Aw, no. Bo, I don’t have to promise nothin’. 
Youse ain’t got me right yet. I ain’t no child. 
What de hell’s the matter wid youse, anyhow?’ 

“ ‘All right, then, you’ll stay locked up until the 
end of the voyage and then I’ll turn you over to the 
police, and ’ 

“ ‘An’ you’ll pay like hell fer that ’f I does. 
Youse see!’ he snarled. 

“Well, what could I do? What would you have 
done under the circumstances? The boy was not 
afraid. I knew his breed too well. I knew his fa- 
ther. He would not suffer the smallest infringe- 
ment of what he believed to be his rights. He 
would resist to the death. He had gone with a 
gang of young ruffians and had developed a certain 
sense of what he believed to be right. He saw no 
law but that of absolute equality; and there is no 
such thing. He was at fault. It was absurd for 
men who ran a ship whose name was ‘hard’ to al- 
low a little boy to take charge, a little fellow not 
weighing a hundred pounds. I decided to give him 


34tO 


ON GOING TO SEA 


a real whipping — a whipping that would make a 
permanent mark in his memory. I hated to think 
of it — hated to really believe it was necessary, for 
there is nothing so horrible as whipping a man — 
and the lad was a man in his own opinion. There 
is absolutely nothing so soul-killing, so fearfully 
degrading. I prefer the bloodiest fighting always 
to the cold-blooded lash. I have seen men lose 
their self-respect under the degrading stroke of the 
lash; and a man without self-respect had better be 
dead. I studied the case and remembered his' fa- 
ther. He was a small man physically — I never 
knew a big man make a good seaman ; but he could 
take charge of a ship, no matter what kind of crea- 
tures were forward, and he never spoke but once in 
giving an order. The father had the same idea in 
regard to right and wrong — he never forgave one, 
never forgot. Yet he had been a staunch friend of 
mine. He had many friends who swore by him — 
and he was always to be relied upon, you could al- 
ways count upon him no matter what the cost to 
himself in any emergency. It was his idea of duty 
— and he feared nothing at all. 

‘Tt was just a week later on a hot day when I 
had gone below to work the noon sight that I be- 
came aware of a pair of eyes looking at me from 
the top of the companionway, and as I looked up 
I gazed right into those of Willie; but it was 
along the blue barrel of my own forty-five caliber 
six-shooter. The gun had always been hanging 
close to my bunk head — ready for emergencies. 

‘‘ *Bang !’ The shot came without a second's 


ON GOING TO SEA 


341 


warning. The bullet tore through my arm. I 
sprang through the bulkhead into the forward 
cabin just as the second shot ripped me across the 
neck. I was rushing for the doorway to the main 
deck and the third shot threw splinters in my face 
as it hit the edge of the door. Willie was coming 
right along behind me, and firing as he came — and 
I — well, I confess it, I was running for my life. I 
heard his yell of derision, a shrill scream 

‘The mate heard the firing, and as Willie came 
through the doorway he kicked him in the back and 
knocked him over. Then he jumped upon him and 
stamped all but the very life out of him by driving 
his boot-heels into his face.” 

I shivered with the intensity of the tale, the hor- 
ror of it all. The old man sat silent in the gloom 
and the spark of light from his cigar end flared and 
faded as he drew upon it. He was thinking of the 
past. I waited. 

“Well, what was I to do? I was a man, a ship 
master, and here I was with my arm shattered by 
a heavy bullet from a mere boy — or devil! What 
could I do? 

‘Yes, then I whipped him — whipped him until the 
men turned away. I will not tell you of it — it was 
too horrible. 

“It was four weeks before I could get about the 
deck from the effects of that pistol shot. I had lit- 
tle medicine aboard. There I was limping about 
with a broken arm, and there was Bowles limping 
about with the tendons of his back cut through. 
It was awful. The men grinned. Yes, the men 


S4<2 


ON GOING TO SEA 


grinned at us. I had an extra padlock put upon- 
the stateroom where Willie stayed, and he was 
kept tight after that. 

‘‘At the end of a month Willie was all but dead. 
The terrific heat, the gases from the cargo and the 
close confinement told upon his weak frame. I 
saw that he would not last much longer. He would 
die in the ship, and I remembered the words of his 
father — ‘bring him back; be sure and bring him 
back!’ There was an old man in the crew named 
Jim. He was half fish and the rest salt and rope- 
yarn. He offered to take the boy in hand and try 
to train him. I let him have a chance, always hav- 
ing him close at hand to stop any trouble with a 
pair of irons. And when he turned in the boy was 
locked up again. But there was no talk of doing 
right, no promise to be fair or obey orders from the 
little chap. I saw he would break out at the first 
opportunity and refused to give him one. I had 
old Jim read the Bible to him every day to see if 
I couldn’t get him interested in religion. He liked 
that part of the Old Testament where it is espe- 
cially bloody and deals with the desperate fighting 
of men, but when it came to other parts he lost 
interest. 

“ ‘Say, cull, do youse believe dat yarn erbout de 
whale — ^say ? Aw, gwan ! don’t spring nothin’ funny 
on me. Bo. Gimme some of de hot stuff or cut it 
— see? Dat kid David was de stuff! Gimme some 
more o’ his work, or let it go at dat. He might 
have hove de rock an’ hit de giant in de neck — ^but 
I doubts it; but maybe so, maybe so. Dat giant 


ON GOING TO SEA 


S45 


warn’t no bigger’n Bowles, I reckon — ’n I c’u’d do 
fer him easy enough, as youse know. Yes, I c’u’d 
a dun up dat giant all right wid any sort er weap- 
ing — ^knife or rock — I’m a sort o’ giant killer my- 
self •’ 

‘‘ ‘You ain’t got de nerve to do nothing like that, 
boy. Shut up and listen !’ said Jim. 

“ ‘Say, Bo, don’t youse make no mistake erbout 
me noive. I got de whole gang of youse beat to a 
gantline. I c’u’d stick youse all back in de lazereet 
an’ not half woik. Aw, say, Jimmy, youse ain’t 
got me measure quite right — see ? Guess onct more, 
old boy; but go erlong an’ read some more of de 
fight to me. I likes it all right.’ And so they 
would chat together and I would listen to try and 
fathom the boy’s mind. It was peculiar. And yet 
under it all was that vast ego, that immense regard 
for the opinions of others — not alone himself — he 
was too young yet, but for himself was the great- 
est, the self-respect. He was a leader, a boy with 
a soul — you may laugh when you think him a fiend, 
a perfect devil, if you will, but he was all right in 
some things. 

“I was more afraid of Rose, my mate. 

“Rose was a quiet man, a driver, and he had 
struck down the boy and beaten him to a jelly. 
The boy never alluded to it, never spoke of it even 
to Jim. That’s where the danger lay. I felt that 
they would finish the fight when I let the lad loose, 
and dared not do so for a long time. Once when 
Jim had the boy on deck I caught Rose gazing at 
him with a peculiar steady light in his eyes. He 


344 


ON GOING TO SEA 


just stood looking at the boy for nearly a full 
minute — then the lad turned and looked right into 
his eyes with the same peculiar steadiness — a stare 
that was unblinking, yet not strained. Willie had 
those light eyes, almost colorless, like his father. 
So had Rose, and they told each other so plainly 
what was behind their eyes that I almost smiled; 
but it was no smiling work, even if there was a 
boy in it. Rose showed plainly that he would wring 
the boy’s neck at the first outfly, and was regard- 
less of consequences. Rose was not a man to trifle 
with, yet when you remember that I was shot and 
the second mate cut, there was reason for the chief 
to throw out all sentiment. And so I kept Willie 
under Jim’s care until we reached Hong-Kong. 
Then the old seaman wanted to go ashore and take 
the boy with him, promising not to go near a grog- 
shop. You can’t trust a windjammer ashore after 
a long voyage, no matter how good a man he is. 
Jim came back to the ship that night the worse for 
wear, and told a tale of the boy slipping away from 
him in the streets. The man was drunk and I had 
him sent down in irons. Then I sent out a call for 
the police. 

‘‘They found Willie, who had wandered off while 
Jim was drinking. The boy had walked the streets 
all night, not caring much about the ship, and be- 
cause a Chinaman would not cut off his queue and 
make him a present of it, the boy had jumped him 
with a knife he had procured and tried to take it by 
force. The interference of the police was all that 
saved the boy’s life, for the man’s friends helped 


ON GOING TO SEA 


345 


him hold the lad, and they were just in the act of 
cutting his throat when help arrived. I was almost 
sorry for the interference, but I remembered the 
words of his father. 

“Jini being unable to take further care of him 
for the present, I locked him up myself and turned 
in, being tired from the night’s work. The next 
evening I saw Mr. Rose dragging Willie aboard 
the ship. How he got adrift I don’t know, but he 
carried in each hand an oil can, while the mate, 
holding him, forced him aboard. 

“ ^Say, Bo, whatcher think I done — hey? Just 
watch dat junk dere lyin’ in de next dock — see? 
Aw, chee, dem Chinks is de limit. Dat feller what 
got me in Dutch last night is aboard dere, an’ — 
well, you jest watch him now and tell me what 
youse t’ink o’ me, anyways. I remembers him, but 
most all Chinks looks alike to me. Anyhow, I fire 
her up fer fair — you watch her — see? Oh, say, 
Bo, what a pipe ’ 

“Even while he spoke the black smoke poured 
from the fated junk. She burned like a box of 
matches. She was full of camphor wood and 
grease, and she fired the entire dock, burning six 
other vessels and making it so hot we were forced 
to warp into the stream. 

“No, I didn’t give the boy up. I suppose I might 
have done so and seen him hung properly. I said 
nothing, and Rose was a very quiet man. The 
damage he had done apparently took the lad’s mind 
off his former troubles, and on the way home I let 
him go back to his watch. He took to the rigging 


546 


ON GOING TO SEA 


like a monkey. I will say here he was the best 
sailor I had ever seen. There was nothing he could 
not learn about seamanship. He would always take 
the weather earing in a blow and no man dared to 
send him in. When Jim was on deck the old sea- 
man kept him under his eye in case of trouble, and 
Mr. Rose was always most vigilant. The mate had 
determined to kill the lad at the first sign of dan- 
ger. I tried again and again to win his confidence, 
but he seemed to look upon me as his enemy. He 
refused to take me for a friend, and my little talks 
were futile. 

“ ‘Aw, tell it to yer grandmother,' he would say 
to me. ‘Don't try to stuff me, Bo. Youse had 
your innings at that — now fergit it before you git 
inter the soup ag’in. I knows youse, an' I ain't 
done wid youse yet, either — see? Youse done me 
dirt — ^youse done me when I first come in de ship. 
I ain’t decided just what I’ll do to youse yet, but 
youse better keep yer eye liftin’ fer me. Don' try 
to razzle-dazzle me none. I ain't afraid of youse 
at all. You ain't got de noive to do me — see ? But 
I got it in fer youse all hunk, how don't make no 
mistake erbout dat. I’ll let youse off easier the 
better we gets erlong — see? If we gets erlong all 
right I may let youse down easy — if not. I’ll kill 
you as sure as I breathe, an’ that goes as it lays. 
Do youse git it right?' 

“Here was a boy, now sixteen, telling the master 
of a ship he would kill him if things were not to his 
liking. What do you think of it, anyway ? I never 
could work it out. I couldn't lock him up any 


ON GOING TO SEA 


347 


more for it would have killed him — and I must not 
kill the lad — I don’t know 

^‘The whole affair was insane. It was grotesque. 
But there was my shattered arm, and there was 
Bowles limping about — that fire at Hong-Kong — 
and I must bring Willie back home. I’m telling 
you a true story. I’m telling you of a boy, an ap- 
prentice. 

‘‘When we struck the rough weather of the high 
latitudes Willie was happy. He was worked out to 
a gantline by Jim, and he was beginning to run the 
men a bit. It was amazing and absurd to hear 
that kid yelling orders to the men aloft. ‘Slack- 
away’ or ‘clew up,’ whatever the order was, and 
he was very smart. He could beat the best of them 
to the royal yard; and he was taking pride in it. 
His voice was at that stage when it cracks and 
goes into a treble, and no one laughed. Even the 
mate watched it all with gloomy eyes, never saying 
a thing, and never even smiling. And it was amaz- 
ing how the men obeyed him. If a man failed to 
do so, only an apology and the reception of a kick 
upon the stern would save him from a fracas, for 
Willie kept right after them. Yes, he inherited all 
the masterly qualities of his father. He was a 
wonder at seamanship. One day a dago didn’t like 
the way Willie trod upon his feet when they were 
both hauling a brace. They mixed, and it was the 
closest shave for the lad. He came out with a bad 
cut, for the dago at sea takes to a knife like a babe 
to milk. That night, while in his bunk, the dago 
was slammed over the head with a handspike, and 


348 


ON GOING TO SEA 


we had to keep him off duty until the ship docked. 

"‘When we came in Jim brought his charge aft 
to sign off, as is the custom, you know, for their 
slop chest accounts. Willie came up. 

“I haven’t got much against you, Willie; you owe 
me for a couple of plugs of tobacco, but we’ll let 
that go,” I said. 

‘No, we don’t. Bo ; youse charge it all up right 
an’ proper. Den I got a small account agin de ship 
— which I’ll settle right now ’ 

“But old Jim was too quick for him. 

“ ‘Take him forward and keep him in irons until 
we get in. We’ll get inside before dark,’ I ordered. 
You know how it is when a ship comes in. The 
land sharks were there in swarms, but among them 
was old man Jackson waiting for his son. They 
went away hand in hand, the old man never even 
speaking to me — I always thought he knew. 

“Our cargo was valued at about half a million. 
It was nearly all Jackson’s, as he owned the great- 
est shares in all the ships. We docked and were 
forced to lay right behind a barge loaded with dy- 
namite, nearly two tons of it ready for taking out 
in the morning to blow Hell Gate rock. 

“Bowles had gone ashore with the rest, and Rose 
had stepped up the street for a ‘first night’ off. He 
was not due until midnight. I always suspected the 
second officer or the dago — >1 don’t know, only 
neither of them ever showed up again. They both 
had seen the President of the line take his son, his 
young hopeful, away with him. They both had 
suffered much from his hands. Perhaps it was re- 


ON GOING TO SEA 


349 


venge — to try to get even with the father for the 
son’s sins. Anyhow, I had hardly turned in that 
night, leaving old Jones, the shipkeeper, on deck, 
when the old fellow ran below and told me the 
ship was afire forward. I turned out instantly and 
was on deck. 

“The ship was burning like a beacon from the 
foremast to the t’gallant forecastle. She seemed 
to be spread with oil. Jones was seventy and un- 
able to do much. I ran forward and yelled for 
help. In ten minutes the engines were playing a 
stream upon the ship and a fireboat was flooding 
her from aft. Jackson came down on the run to 
see his vessel being destroyed and his cargo van- 
ishing in black smoke. He had had trouble with 
the insurance, and he was worried. Then while 
he stood upon the dock and spoke to me as I stood 
upon the rail amidships, I was aware of a small 
figure near him. 

“ ‘Aw, say. Bo, youse better get away from 
there — cut out, see ? There’s powder to blow youse 
to hell and back right there in that lighter. Youse 
ain’t got more’n a minute, cully. Better git gay 
wid de lines.’ 

“Then I recognized Willie. He had come down 
to see the blaze and was calling attention to the 
thing we had forgotten for the moment. 

“ ‘Call de watch, an’ Til lend youse a hand.’ 

“I called for Jones to slack off the after lines, 
and then I ran as far as I could into the smoke and 
managed to cast off forward, getting nearly 
drowned with the engine water. Jackson came 


350 


ON GOING TO SEA 


aboard and worked like mad. The stern lines were 
cast off, but before we could do anything the ship 
began to swing right down upon the barge. The 
slip was too narrow to get the dynamite past the 
vessel, and there she was now surging ahead upon 
it. She had both blocked the slip and surged into 
it. I began to yell to the men standing about to 
get away from the place before the explosion. They 
had crowded about as close as they could to see 
the fire, not knowing anything about what was on 
the barge. 

‘‘Jackson rushed aft and howled to the fireboat 
to pass a line, as the wind was now blowing her 
slowly across the slip and right upon the dynamite. 
Every one who could understand me began to run. 
The dock cleared off quickly. Then, just as I was 
about to jump ashore myself, I heard a voice close 
to the rail. 

“ ‘Aw, say, Bo, give me a heavin’ line — I kin 
swim acrost the slip — den hurry up an’ bend de 
hawser, youse can heave her over easy enough. 
Don’t get nutty.’ 

“I saw Willie standing there, and without further 
ado I threw him the end of a small line. He 
jumped in without a word and swam rapidly across 
the narrow stretch of water to the other dock. A 
man on the pier reached down and took the line 
from the lad. I had already bent on the hawser, 
and it went across lively. Then taking the end to 
the midship capstan, I got old Jones to hold the 
turns while I walked her around as fast as I could. 

“But I was not strong enough to warp a heavy 


ON GOING TO SEA 


351 


ship across a slip even in still water. The ship 
surged ahead slowly in spite of all I could do, and 
Jackson grabbed a capstan bar to help. It was a 
poor chance at best, but we worked on. I caught a 
glimpse of a slight figure working upon the deck 
of the barge, throwing cases of powder overboard. 
A man appeared with him, but I could not take time 
to see much. The boxes were cases of about a 
hundred pounds each, and they were rapidly going 
overboard, and with the tide through the dock. 
Minutes passed, but nothing happened. We seemed 
to be getting way upon the ship, and Jackson swore 
and strove mightily to save her, with no thought of 
leaving even in the face of a terrific explosion. We 
would have gone clear all right but for the fact we 
had our port anchor over and hanging from the 
cathead. We had warped the ship clear of the 
barge, and hei* bow swung over, the line being too 
far aft and the fire and water too dangerous to 
work in forward. The fluke of the anchor swept 
a pile of boxes — about three hundred pounds — and 
then came the crash. It was terrific. The fluke 
was clear of the ship’s hull by several feet, but it 
was blown through the deck, the five-thousand- 
pound anchor flung like a toy through her side. 
She shook from end to end. We were all blown 
flat, stunned, although we had many feet of solid 
vessel between us and the blast. 

‘‘When we came around from the shock of the 
explosion Jackson had the pleasure of seeing his 
ship without a bowsprit, her nose blown clear off, 
but the fire was blown out. There was not even 


352 


ON GOING TO SEA 


much smoke left. The barge had entirely van- 
ished. 

‘The firemen came aboard afterward, and so did 
many shipmasters, whose vessels lay in the vicinity. 
Jackson met them dumbly. He said nothing. 

“ ‘Good thing they got the dynamite overboard 
quick enough,^ said Captain Smith of the Sunner- 
dun. ‘That boy, whoever he was, was all right. 
The watchman ran away just before the smash. ^ 

“ ‘What boy ?' asked a fireman. 

“But it was no use to tell us what boy — we knew, 
we felt, it all along. 

“Yes, that was the end of him. He had tried to 
save the ship, his father’s ship — and he had done it 
when men failed — I don’t know — I can’t judge him. 
Old man Jackson left without a word, and I never 
saw him again.” 

The old seaman paused, and the night showed 
his cigar end flaming again. I sat there thinking 
over the tale, the true tale of that boy, for I knew 
Large was telling me only facts. It was all very 
strange, all like a horrid nightmare the old seaman 
had suffered from; but it was not a dream, it was 
the truth about a boy, just a rough, tough boy 
whose ideals had been a bit peculiar. I looked over 
across the berth at my own ship, where five boys 
were already signed on for the voyage around the 
Cape, and I began to wonder if I had done a wise 
thing to ship them. Then I determined right there 
to give them some extra thought and study, to try 
to fathom what lay behind their “going to sea.” 

718 








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